


It's a Love Story (Baby Just Say Yes)

by benjji2795



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Don't Judge Me, I SPENT FOUR WEEKS ON THIS OKAY, I tagged all the other ships even though their not the main point of the story, M/M, also this is really long? and I'm sorry?, because I'm thirsty for views, cause Foxtrot is LAX bro, romeo and juliet - Freeform, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6741598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benjji2795/pseuds/benjji2795
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Tango meets Dylan Fox on the first day of his MATH-101 class (a.k.a. Calculus I)<em></em></em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em></em><br/><em>Tango could've never predicted what would happen after.</em><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Love Story (Baby Just Say Yes)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this fic has been a long time in the making...as I said in the tags, I spent four weeks working on this. But the idea for this came long before then, back even before the April updates...the updates were just the point where I started working on it (because I finally had a tadpole to write about!). Anyway, I never meant for it to get this long? It just...spiraled out of control, I guess. I hope y'all enjoy it though :)
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift's _[Love Story](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8xg3vE8Ie_E)_!

It was no mistake that Tony Casey, also known by his hockey nickname of Tango, took a smaller scholarship to come to Samwell. Other places offered him full athletic scholarships to play hockey, but Tango didn’t want to go to those other places. He wanted to go to Samwell, a school known for recent alumnus Jack Zimmermann and it’s large LGBTQ+ population.

 

It was the second thing that drew Tango to Samwell. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t out at home, because he was; he was never really “in,” as they say. Tango always asked a lot of questions, and so the second he started having strange feelings for other guys, he asked his mom about them.

 

No, acceptance wasn’t what was important to Tango; it was that he was tired of being the only gay boy in his small town. He was tired of never having dates, tired of standing out on his own. He wanted to go somewhere that he would be one in a crowd, not the only one. And if that crowd happened to be mostly comprised of hot guys, well, Tango wasn’t going to complain.

* * *

 

Tango meets Dylan Fox on the first day of his MATH-101 class (a.k.a. Calculus I). Tango is sitting by himself in a giant lecture hall as students begin to file in for class.

 

“Hey, is this seat taken?” Dylan asks him.

 

“No,” Tango says before he looks up. When he does, he feels his heart trip and stutter.

 

It might have been an exaggeration to say that Dylan was the hottest boy Tango had ever seen up until that point in his life. But if he wasn’t, then he was pretty fucking close to it. On that first day when Tango met him, Dylan’s light blond hair was perfectly spiked up, just enough that it looked messy, but intentional. He wore a dark, short-sleeve button up with a bright, baby-blue bow tie tied around his neck. And his skinny jeans showed off his ass and legs, and while Dylan was no hockey player, the way the pants fit him was enough to make Tango’s mouth feel dry.

 

“I’m Dylan,” he says, sliding coolly into his chair. His voice is a smooth baritone, with a nice, dark timbre to it. Tango already knows that he could listen to Dylan talk for ages, and he would also bet that Dylan is a good singer.

 

“T-Tango,” he stutters back after he spends a beat too long staring at the other boy.

 

Dylan’s nose wrinkles up, and Tango is transfixed by the motion. “Tango? That can’t be your real name, can it?”

 

“Oh, it—it’s not,” Tango replies meekly, feeling his cheeks heat up. “My t-team gave me that nickname.”

 

“That’s cool,” Dylan shrugs as he pulls a notebook and pen from his backpack. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you Tango,” he adds, smiling sweetly.

 

“Y-yeah, it’s uh, n-nice to meet you t-too,” Tango splutters just as the professor walks in, slapping a pile of books on the desk in front, immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

 

He spends most of that first day in a daze because of Dylan, but he gets away with it because the professor only spends the first class droning on about the stupid syllabus. The second class, not so much.

 

See, Dylan sits next to him again, but while he was a distraction yesterday, today he’s really not. No, the problem is that the professor—Tango thinks his name is Willis, but he can’t remember for sure—never fucking turns around. He has so many questions, because Calc I is a really hard class.

 

He sits there patiently, hand up, ready to be called on—for twenty minutes. But the professor hasn’t done so much as glance over his shoulder at the students. And it’s a big class, Tango gets that—the lecture hall’s capacity is 250—but he would’ve thought that the professor would like, actually teach, not ramble on to a room of people who may or may not be listening.

 

The more he waits, the more questions Tango has, the more tired his arm feels, and the more exasperated he gets. Twenty-five minutes…thirty minutes…at thirty-five minutes, Tango feels a tap on his shoulder.

 

“Hey, what’s your question?” Dylan asks him quietly (though Tango doubts it would’ve mattered to the professor if Dylan had been talking as loudly as he could—a jet plane could probably land in the lecture hall and he’d keep droning on about limits like nothing was wrong).

 

Tango glances over at Dylan skeptically. “Are you really sure that you can answer my questions?” he inquires, slowly lowering his aching arm.

 

“Yeah man, I definitely can,” Dylan answers, sliding over his notebook with tons of notes already scribbled down on the pages. “See, I took this class in high school. I know this shit. I just took this class because my advisor said it would be easy credit for my GPA.”

 

“Wait, so you actually understand limits?” Tango asks, eyes wide in shock, because from the first 35 minutes, he’s convinced that no one in the world could actually comprehend limits.

 

Dylan puts a hand on his arm and grins. “Dude, limits are my jam.”

* * *

 

It becomes habit. He and Dylan sit next to each other every calculus class, and Tango turns to Dylan every time he has a question. Thank God Dylan almost always has the answer, or else Tango is 99.9% sure he would end up failing.

 

Not that sitting next to Dylan is without its own, very separate confusion. Dylan is always leaning over into his space when providing the answer to one of his questions, and whenever they see each other at the beginning of class, Dylan will compliment something he’s wearing, saying things like “I like the way that shirt brings out your eyes” or “the way you look in those skinny jeans is just _criminal_.” And on a few rare occasions, he swears he’s heard Dylan mutter something to under his breath about just how adorable he is.

 

Tango thinks Dylan might be flirting with him but—considering he had never been in the same room as another gay boy before—he has no experience with which to compare Dylan’s actions to. So after Friday’s class of that week, Tango makes a beeline for the Haus, seeking advice from the only other gay boy that he knows—Bitty.

 

Bitty is in the kitchen, singing quietly to himself as he rolls out a lump of dough on the counter. It’s no surprise that Bitty is making a pie; Tango was hoping that’s what he was doing, since it’s easier to talk to Bitty when he’s working.

 

“How do I know if a guy is flirting with me?” he blurts out loudly the second he steps foot in the kitchen.

 

Bitty jumps a good foot in the air, spinning around rapidly as he places a hand over his heart. “Tango! Good Lord, you scared me!” Bitty exclaims.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I like, didn’t mean to, I’m just confused and…I thought you might be able to help me,” Tango mumbles, shuffling backward out of the room.

 

“You just stop right there,” Bitty says firmly, using his rolling pin to point him to a chair at the table. “I wasn’t kickin’ you outta my kitchen, sweetheart. I was just surprised is all.  But then again, I get surprised by everythin'.”

 

“O-oh, okay,” Tango replies hesitantly, walking over and sitting down on the chair like he was directed.

 

“Now I’m sure I can help you, let’s see if we can’t figure this out,” Bitty hums. “You were askin' me how to know if a guy is flirtin’ with you?”

 

Tango nods. “Yeah. There—well, there’s this guy who I sit next to in calc,” he says, feeling his face heat up as he explains it to Bitty. “And he’s like…really hot, okay? And I think he’s flirting with me? I just like, don’t have any experience with that so...I mean I grew up in a small town where I was the only gay guy so like…I don’t know. What do guys normally do when they flirt?”

 

“I—wow, okay,” Bitty chuckles softly to himself. “That, Tango, is a loaded question, and it’s one that’s not very easy to answer.  Although, it's not exactly unfamiliar, but still.”

 

“Oh. But—but you’re saying there is an answer?” Tango inquires hopefully. He really would like to know, because not only is Dylan really attractive, he’s unbelievably patient. His mom always told him that patience was the first and most important quality he needed to look for in a guy (mostly due to his constant, unceasing question asking).

 

(“The good Lord better give the boy who falls in love with you an extra dose of patience. He’s going to need every bit he can get,” she would say, smiling down at him fondly as she kissed his forehead.)

 

Tango definitely wants to ask Dylan out on a date, but he doesn’t want to make the mistake of asking out a guy who’s not interested in—well, guys. Samwell may be a far more accepting environment than the rest of the world, but asking out the wrong straight guy could still result in a busted lip, which Tango would really like to avoid (especially since it's already happened to him a few times back home). So it’s important to know if Dylan’s behavior is flirty or friendly.

 

“Yeah, of course there is,” Bitty answers. “I just gotta know what he’s gettin’ up to in order to tell you anythin’.”

 

“Oh, right,” Tango murmurs; he definitely didn’t think about how awkward this conversation was going to feel before he came running over here. He’s never talked about anything like this with anyone but his mom and it’s just _weird_. “Well he’s like…always in my space, I guess? Even when he doesn’t have to be,” Tango starts to explain, going over the things that happened, just in the last class alone. “And sometimes he’ll like, touch my arm or hand when he’s pointing something out and he always compliments what I’m wearing, even if it’s just jeans and a hoodie and sometimes I think he says stuff about me being ‘adorable when I’m clueless’ or something and I—”

 

“Sweetheart,” Bitty says, grinning as he shakes his head. “I don’t need to hear anymore. That boy is definitely flirtin’ with you.”

 

“Wait, really?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Bitty nods. “The way he’s doin’ it is almost textbook too.”

 

“That’s—wow, that’s great!” Tango says, his lips curving upward. It takes him a second to remember that knowing Dylan is flirting with him—well, it still doesn’t help him much. He’s still completely inexperienced, so he has no idea what the next step is supposed to be. He's never actually met a guy interested in him before! “So…so what do I do now?” he asks, and Bitty laughs.

 

“This really hasn’t happened to you before, has it?” Bitty remarks, and Tango nods sheepishly. “Well generally speakin’, if you want somethin’ to happen, you gotta flirt back.”

 

“But I…I’m pretty sure I don’t know how to do that,” Tango spouts anxiously.

 

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” Bitty giggles. “I’m not gonna leave you for dead. I’m not much of an expert on any of this myself, but I’ll tell you everythin’ I know. Now c’mere and I’ll show you what I think you should do.”

 

Tango jumps up eagerly, joining Bitty at the counter as he outlines, step by step, how to flirt back with Dylan.

* * *

 

When Tango walks into the lecture hall on Monday, he’s ready to execute Bitty’s plan—or at least, he’s prepared to try.

 

Tango settles into his seat, leg bouncing up and down as he waits for Dylan to arrive for class. In his head, Tango repeats the steps over and over in his head. Bitty told him it was simple: repeat Dylan’s actions back at him; slight touches, small compliments and the like.

 

By the time he sees Dylan enter in through the door, he’s not entirely sure how to do any of that. Doing those things requires that he be cool and collected, and he’s just not. His heart is racing, his mouth is dry, and his thoughts are incoherent, a tangled, twisted mess. Dylan comes up to him and Tango tries to smile at him. He’s sure that it comes out looking more like a grimace instead.

 

“Um, h-hey,” Tango stutters as Dylan pulls out the chair next to him.

 

“Yo T, what’s up man?” Dylan says brightly, and Tango envies how calm and composed he seems to be.

 

“You uh—” he starts to say, but his mind goes blank before he can get any farther.

 

_Shit, what was he supposed to do?_

 

 **_Tango:_ ** _Bitty heLP_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Did you forget the plan?_

**_Tango:_ ** _yes UGH_

 **_Tango:_ ** _I’m freaking out!!!!_

**_Bitty:_ ** _Deep breaths_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _compliment his outfit_

 **_Bitty:_ ** _that was step one_

**_Tango:_ ** _oh right_

 **_Tango:_ ** _okay_

 

Tango turns back to Dylan. He’s watching him expectantly, and it startles Tango at first, but then he remembers that he’d started saying something to him, so of course he’s waiting.

 

_Compliment his outfit._

 

Tango studies Dylan for a brief moment before blurting out the first thing he notices. “I like your glasses.”

 

Dylan’s eyebrows shoot up. “I—thanks?” he replies questioningly, sounding confused but looking bemused.

 

Tango kind of wants to slap himself in the face, or maybe sink through the floor. In his rush to compliment the other boy, he picked the one thing that Dylan wears every single day. “I mean uh—they look different,” he says, and he has to restrain himself from face-palming. “I m-mean, are those new?”

 

Dylan snorts softly—just an almost negligible exhalation out through his nose. “Nah man, I’ve had these for nearly two years,” he answers, pushing them up the bridge of his nose.

 

“O-oh, well, they st-still look really g-good on you,” Tango splutters. “Y’know, they like, f-fit your face w-well.”

 

The corner of Dylan’s mouth quirks upward. “Thanks T,” he says. “I like the way you did your hair today.”

 

“T-thank,” Tango mumbles, his face flushing. Dylan has much more experience in the area of flirty compliments, and he’s totally outmatched. He’ll just have to move on to step two instead—except he can’t remember what it is, God damnit!

 

Frowning and scratching his head, he texts Bitty, as he keeps his eyes downcast, away from Dylan.

 

 **_Tango:_ ** _um…so…_

 **_Tango:_ ** _what was step 2?_

**_Bitty:_ ** _next question you have, get his attention by grabbing his arm and leave your hand there for a few seconds_

**_Tango:_ ** _right, got it_

 

Not surprisingly, Tango’s first question comes to him less than a minute into the lecture. Taking a deep breath, he reaches over and grabs Dylan’s forearm. Dylan jolts, pulling his arm away quickly.

 

“Sorry,” Tango mutters, pulling his hand back and putting in his lap, squeezing it between his thighs.

 

“Oh, you were fine,” Dylan whispers, leaning over. “I was just surprised.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“So what was your question?” Dylan asks.

 

Tango leans in toward Dylan instinctively as he begins mumbling his question to the other boy (it’s something that was actually part of the plan—not that Tango remembers that). But it’s just not his day, because that’s the moment that his chair breaks.

 

And that’s not some sort of figurative metaphor—it literally fucking breaks, sending him tumbling to the floor, but not before the top of his head smashes into Dylan’s face on the way down.

 

“Ouch!” Dylan yelps, hands flying up to cover his face. His sudden outcry draws the attention of everyone in the class—except the professor, who continues droning on at the front of the room.

 

“Oh—oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Tango exclaims as he scrambles clumsily to his feet.

 

Dylan pulls his hands away from his face, examining them both closely for blood. Not finding any (as far as Tango can see), he shrugs. “I’m not bleeding, so it’s fine. I mean, that was actually kinda funny,” he says, giggling slightly.

 

“Heh, sure. Funny,” Tango quips quietly, his face burning up from embarrassment. He pushes the broken chair out of the way and slides an empty one over and sits back down.

 

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked—are you okay?” Dylan questions, once the class has stopped staring at them, turning their attention back to the still-babbling professor.

 

Tango nods. Other than his bruised pride and psyche, he’s totally fine. It just sucks that he’s terrible at this whole flirting thing, because he really likes Dylan. But he just fucking humiliated himself, so what’s the point? Why would anyone—especially someone as hot as Dylan—ever want to go out with a bumbling idiot like him anyway?

 

He keeps to himself for the rest of class. He doesn’t ask Dylan any of the questions he normally would, because he can’t bear the idea of talking to Dylan right now—or maybe ever again.

 

Class, mercifully, comes to an end quickly. Tango stands up and gathers up all his papers in his arms, trying to bolt from the lecture hall as quickly as possible.

 

“Hey T, wait up,” Dylan says before he’s even taken a step.

 

Tango heaves a sigh and stops, waiting for Dylan to finish packing his backpack up, and Tango resolutely keeps his eyes anywhere but on the blond haired boy. Dylan straightens up and starts walking, and Tango follows, walking silently beside him.

 

After a short time, Dylan puts a hand on his shoulder and stops him. “C’mon T, look at me please,” he pleads. Dylan uses his hand to encourage him to turn, and so he does, but he looks down at their shoes instead of looking the other boy in the eye. “Close enough,” Dylan mutters under his breath. “So T—Tango. Do you want to go out some time?”

 

The question catches Tango off-guard, and his head snaps up, brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

 

“I said, do you want to go out some time?” Dylan repeats, his blue eyes peering up at him through the thick lenses of his black-framed glasses.

 

The phrase “go out” could mean a lot of different things depending on the situation. And it’s in his nature never to assume things, so while it seems like Dylan is asking him on a date, the context of the situation conflicts with that interpretation, so he has to ask. “You mean like hang out?” Tango questions.

 

Dylan laughs and pats his shoulder. “You’re really cute, you know that?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I’m asking you out on a date, T,” Dylan says.

 

“I—wha—why?!” Tango splutters, eyes going wide in shock. “I just humiliated myself in front of you! Multiple times! Were you not watching that?!”

 

“Yeah, I was watching,” Dylan replies, grinning crookedly. “That’s what sold me.”

 

Tango scrunches up his nose, frowning deeply.

 

“It’s clear you’ve got no game,” Dylan explains, shaking his head fondly. “But you trying anyway was probably the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

 

“But being terrible at flirting isn’t cute!” Tango protests weakly, because it’s hard to argue with a guy that’s calling him cute.

 

“Sure it is,” Dylan shrugs as he starts walking again, using the hand on his shoulder to pull Tango along with him. “I’m just glad you started flirting back. I was starting to get worried I was using all my best moves on a guy who wasn’t interested.”

 

“Best moves?” Tango says, trying to tease Dylan. “Bitty told me that what you were doing was textbook!”

 

“Oh, you’re really going to argue with me on this?” Dylan retorts playfully. “I’m just saying, when I made the comment about how you looked in your skinny jeans a few days ago, the blush on your face said it was pretty damn effective!”

 

“No one’s ever complimented my butt before!” Tango counters, cracking a smile for the first time since before calc started.

 

“I’m just saying, you better get used to it man. I mean, the way you look in skinny jeans…mmhm, what I wouldn’t give to get my hands on that ass…” Dylan says dreamily, his voice trailing off softly.

 

Tango feels himself igniting on the spot, because here’s a really hot guy, talking about he wants to touch his butt and…it’s all new, exciting and…well, _wow_.

 

“See, that’s what I’m talking about!” Dylan exclaims when his eyes find their way back to his face. Given how hot it feels, his face must be the color of a firetruck. “Anyway, so how about I come by your dorm and pick you up at 7:00 on Friday?”

 

“Y-yeah, that sounds—great,” Tango replies with considerable effort. Honestly, his brain is still short-circuiting over the comment about his ass.

 

“Great!” Dylan says, grinning widely. “Well I gotta run right now, but can we hash out the details tomorrow after class?”

 

“S-sure,” Tango chokes out as Dylan trots off. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t stare at the other boy’s retreating figure until he was out of sight.

 

Dylan is making a big deal about his ass? Has he seen his own? Tango wonders as he wanders off toward the Haus, still in a stupor.

 

When he eventually gets there—but not before tripping over three curbs and his own feet twice (was well as walking into a tree)—Bitty is waiting for him in the kitchen, pie already cooling on the counter.

 

“Hey Tango!” Bitty says as he procures a knife to cut the pie.

 

“Hi,” Tango replies vacantly, plopping down at the table.

 

“So I take it by that smile everythin’ went well?” Bitty questions, sliding a plate with pie on it in front of him.

  
Tango snaps out of his daze as he takes a bite of pie. “Uh, no, it really didn’t. I was like, terrible at flirting?” he answers.

 

“Oh really?”

 

“Yeah,” Tango says questioningly. “I don’t really—understand I guess? Cause I totally humiliated myself? But he asked me out after class anyway?”

 

“Oh my goodness!” Bitty says, beaming widely. “That’s great!”

 

Tango is already grinning, but if he hadn’t been, Bitty’s enthusiasm would’ve fixed that. “I’m still not entirely sure how cause like…I wasn’t joking when I said I was terrible. But Dylan said it was like…adorable? So maybe it’s like…good that I was bad,” Tango muses as he eats another forkful of pie.

 

“Some people just aren’t meant to be good flirters. I mean, you should see Jack tryin’ to flirt,” Bitty remarks, shaking his head fondly. “He’s literally the worst. I swear, it’s an honest to God treat to watch.”

 

“Well, maybe he’s not very good, but you’re already dating him so…” Tango pauses, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s not like he needs to be good at it.”

 

Bitty doesn’t freeze, but his motions stutter, and Tango notices it out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Wh—what?” Bitty stammers blankly.

 

Tango stops, fork halfway to his mouth, and, for the second time in only a couple of hours, has to keep himself from physically face-palming as he watches Bitty’s face go pale. His mom always said he was too observant for his own good.

 

“Wait, you are dating Jack, right?” Tango asks, because he also has a mouth that tends to disconnect from his brain.

 

“What—what makes you think that, sweetheart?” Bitty inquires, his voice unsteady as he leans against the counter for support.

 

Tango curses under his breath. Sometimes he really hates that he only has two modes: asking too many questions, or sticking his foot in his mouth. And this is definitely one of those times.

 

“Well it’s just that—you wear his Falconers jersey more than you wear anything else? And you’re always texting someone and the way you blush when you talk about him and the way you described him as passionate and—I just thought—but I obviously was wrong and I’m sorry for assuming…”

 

He trails off, pushing his half-eaten piece of pie away as he slowly stands up.

 

“Oh—oh Lord, sweetheart, I need you to sit back down, please,” Bitty implores, crossing over to the table. He heaves a sigh, rubbing his eyes. “You’re—well, you’re actually right Tango. I am datin’ Jack. But the thing is that no one’s s’posed to know.”

 

“Oh my—oh my God,” Tango groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course you didn’t want anyone to know. You would’ve said something and just because I notice things doesn’t mean I should talk about them but I always do anyway and ugh, fuck, I’m so sorry.”

 

“Don’t go beatin’ yourself up now, y’hear?” Bitty says insistently, patting him on the shoulder. “I actually haven’t been all that subtle, and I know that. It’s just that the other boys have the emotional intelligence of a brick wall, y’know? So I figured no one would notice, but you’re not like the others, obviously. But it’s okay, I’m sure Jack won’t mind you knowin’, as long as you don’t go talkin’ about it to everyone and their brother.”

 

“I would never,” Tango says, shaking his head vigorously. He may be too observant and say the wrong thing sometimes, but he’s not stupid.

 

“Good,” Bitty smiles, walking back to the counter to work on…well, it looks like another pie, even though he appears to have just finished making his. “Now Tango, why don’t you tell me more about…uh, what did you say his name was?”

 

“Dylan,” Tango answers as he pulls the plate of pie back towards him, shoveling a forkful into his mouth as quickly as he can manage.

 

“Dylan. Okay, well, tell me more about him,” Bitty says.

 

He perks up, and he can’t help smiling as he starts to rattle off everything he knows about Dylan. “Well, he’s shorter than me,” he starts with his mouth full, and Bitty turns and raises an eyebrow at him. He swallows, looking down guiltily at his plate, embarrassed about being so excited he forgot his manners. “Sorry Bitty. Anyway, I think he’s like 5’9”? I guess he would have to be, since he’s—well, it seems like he's probably close to two inches shorter than me. And he has blond hair, kinda like yours only except his is a little bit darker and it just looks so good when he spikes it up like he normally does. And he wears these black squared-framed glasses that like fit his face perfect and…”

 

By the time Tango runs out of things to tell Bitty about Dylan, it’s been close to a half-hour, and people are starting to file back into the Haus from their classes. His piece of pie long gone, and out of things to talk about, Tango stands up and heads out toward the living room, where Nursey and Chowder have just collapsed on the couch. But before he leaves, he turns back to Bitty.

 

“Thank you for the advice,” he says, standing awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. He’s a hugger, but he doesn’t want to make Bitty uneasy by doing so without knowing if he’s okay with it. He’s already accidentally made Bitty uncomfortable enough today.

 

Seeing his awkwardness, Bitty jerks his head to invite Tango over. “You’re welcome Tango,” Bitty grins, embracing him when he walks up to him. “I’m so glad I could help.”

 

“Oh and uh—I just want to say again that I’m sorry about bringing up Ja—I mean, your  _boyfriend_ , and I promise I won’t talk about him to anyone,” Tango adds as he steps back, in case Bitty needs extra reassurance; he did seem pretty freaked out when he mentioned it the first time.

 

“I knew you wouldn’t but—thanks for promisin’ me anyway,” Bitty says, eyes soft and trusting. “Now you should probably scram, unless you’re lookin’ to get trampled by a bunch of boys lookin’ for pie!” he adds with a chuckle as Ransom and Holster loudly enter the Haus.

 

“Oh, and thanks for the pie!” Tango calls out over his shoulder as an afterthought when he exits the kitchen, which causes no less than six members of the hockey team to suddenly materialize in the foyer outside the kitchen. Tango just barely escapes their stampede with his life.

* * *

 

The week flies by, and before he knows it, it is Friday, and he has just more than an hour before Dylan will be knocking on his door to pick him up. He’s in his room with Bitty, trying to pick out something to wear, and doing nothing short of panicking.

 

“Dylan is so great Bitty. He’s so patient cause he puts up with all my questions and he’s attractive and I just really want this to work out, but I’m terrified I’m gonna mess it up! I’ve never been on a date before! What if I totally mess it up and he never wants to speak to me again? What if I’m too awkward and we can’t find anything to talk about? What if I ask too many questions and he realizes that it’s too annoying to put up with? And oh my God, he never told me where we were going! What if I don’t dress up enough and embarrass him at some fancy place? What if…”

 

Tango continues to rattle off “what if” after “what if,” while at the same time trying to pull everything he owns out of his closet. And for the first ten minutes, Bitty sits on his bed, listening to him quietly.

 

When he runs out of “what if” questions to ask, when all of his clothes are on the floor of his room, Tango collapses in them. “I don’t think I can do this,” he mutters, hyperventilating as he shoves his face into a pile of shirts.

 

“Sweetie, don’t say that,” Bitty says, hopping down from Tango’s lofted bed to sit cross-legged next to Tango on the floor. “Just breathe, and I promise it’s all goin’ to be fine.”

 

Tango draws a few quick, gasping breaths in through his nose.

 

“No, sweetie, take _actual_ breaths. In for two, out for four,” Bitty instructs firmly, putting a hand his shoulder.

 

Bitty quietly talks him through it (and by _it_ , he means an actual panic attack), and a few minutes of deep breaths later, he’s breathing evenly and feeling much calmer. Bitty smiles and stands up. “C’mon, let’s sort through these clothes…see if we can’t find you anythin’ decent to wear.”

 

They dig through the pile without talking for a minute, before Tango can’t help blurting out, “Were you really nervous for your first date with Jack?”

 

Bitty glances up, looking like a startled deer-in-the-headlights. “Oh…um,” he stammers, and Tango squeezes his eyes shut, groaning loudly.

 

“Oh my God, I said I wasn’t going to talk about him again and I just did and I’m so sorry, I’m just so nervous and when I’m nervous my filter gets worse than it usually is and I say all sorts of wrong things and oh fuck I’m gonna do this on the date too and it’s going to be terrible I’m so fucking screwed—”

 

Bitty sighs, cutting off his monologue. “Tango, sweetie, you know it’s perfectly normal to be nervous before a date, right?” he says, jumping back up onto the bed. He pats a spot on the mattress next to him.

 

Tango crosses over, sitting down with his head in his hands.

 

“Tango, c’mon, look at me,” Bitty implores, gently pulling on his forearms. He lets his hands fall away from his face, reluctantly turning to look Bitty in the eye. “You know how Chowder and Farmer have been datin’ for more than a year?”

 

Tango nods. Chowder and Farmer are practically the perfect example of a grossly in love couple. No one gets fined more for using pet names than Chowder. And he talks about Farmer like she—well, not to be clichéd, but he talks about her like she hung the moon and stars, and it’s clear to see that she absolutely adores him. They’re everything Tango wants his hopefully possibly maybe relationship with Dylan to be like.

 

“Chowder, the poor child, he was just as nervous as you are right now before his first date,” Bitty says, patting his shoulder comfortingly. “And now they’ve been together for more than year. So I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, bein’ nervous has nothin’ to do with how your date is goin’ to go, okay Tango?”

 

“But—”

 

“Tango—you’ve already told me so much about Dylan. It’s clear as day that y’all have so much in common already,” Bitty says, smiling softly as he tries to reassure him. “As far as I know, most of the first dates that bomb are because the two people don’t have anythin’ in common. So I know you won’t be needin’ to worry about that. And Dylan—well, it’s also just obvious that he’s completely enamored with you already. The fact that he's as patient with you as you say he is is evidence of that already.”

 

“I—you really think so?” Tango questions timidly, glancing down at his hands. He knows that Dylan is attracted to him, but being attracted to someone and being—“enamored” with them are two different things.

 

“Sweetie, I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t think it,” Bitty responds softly, squeezing his shoulder. “Now it’s—goodness gracious, you have fifteen minutes to finish gettin’ ready! We better find you somethin’ to wear that will blow him away!”

 

Nothing in the giant pile of clothes really catches Tango’s eye—except for a particular pair of skinny jeans.

 

 _“The way you look in those skinny jeans is just_ criminal _.”_

 

He blushes at the memory, and Bitty notices, tracking his eyes to the pants in question. “These have some kinda special meanin’ I see,” he remarks, pulling them out of the pile and holding them up.

 

“He uh—uh told me he likes um—he likes the way my—my butt looks in those,” Tango stutters out quietly, his face feeling like its on fire.

 

Bitty giggles softly. “Then clearly, you need to be wearin’ these,” he says, tossing the pants at him. “Now for a shirt,” he mutters, digging around.

 

Tango accepts the first shirt that Bitty tosses at him and then chases him from his room so he can change and get ready. Bitty tells him to “break a leg” before he leaves (if he had more time, he’d have asked why he said that instead of good luck). He shimmies into his skinny jeans, tosses his shirt on, and runs a hand through his hair while glancing in the mirror. That’s all he has time for before there’s a sharp rap on the door.

 

Tango trips over himself, nearly tumbling to the floor in his rush to answer the door. Regaining his balance, he crosses the last few steps and yanks it open.

 

Dylan is in the middle of smoothing out his shirt when he does, and the boy jumps. “Oh h-hey T!” he stutters, his smile wide, bright and almost blinding.

 

“Hey,” Tango replies shyly, his nerves getting the best of his normally loud, exuberant personality.

 

“You look incredible,” Dylan says reverently.

 

Tango blushes as he examines his date’s outfit. It’s very nearly identical to what Dylan had been wearing on the day they first met; dark button-up, bright blue bow tie that accentuates his eyes, and skinny jeans.

 

Tango’s mouth is dry as he attempts to come up with a reply. Dylan is so clearly out of his league, but here he is, going out on a date with him. Because Dylan wanted to go out with him, which is something that just boggles his mind.

 

“You look—hot,” Tango responds after a long moment of searching for the right word to describe the boy standing in front of him. _Hot_ wasn’t really right, but it was the best word he could think of.

 

Dylan grins and ducks his head, but not before Tango catches sight of a slight blush starting to color his cheeks. “Thanks, T. Now, are you ready to go?”

 

Tango nods, stepping out of his room and walking out with Dylan, side by side.

* * *

 

Dylan takes him to a movie for their date— _The Fantastic Four_ —which makes Tango’s nerves intensify to the point that he’s vibrating with anxiety. Everyone in his own family hates watching movies with him, because he can’t help asking a million questions. It’s just a fact that if someone watching a movie with him, they won’t actually watch the movie.

 

Dylan leads him up the stairs to seats along the theater’s back wall, and before they sit down, he opens his mouth to tell Dylan about what movies with him are like, but Dylan starts talking before he can say anything.

 

“Any questions you have about the movie, just go ahead and ask me, okay?” Dylan says.

 

Tango practically falls off his seat, barely catching the armrest before he falls off.  The trailers start playing, and he manages to maneuver into a sitting position, his mouth hanging open the whole way.

 

“Did you catch that?” Dylan murmurs after a moment, peering over at him curiously.

 

He snaps his mouth shut and nods. “Y-yeah.”

 

“So you’ll ask me if you have questions about the movie?”

 

“Yeah,” Tango repeats quietly, stunned that Dylan actually wants him to ask questions, even though it’ll distract him from the movie.

 

The movie itself isn’t very good; Tango can tell that from the sheer volume of questions he has to pose to Dylan. Dylan very patiently answers them all without a single groan, sigh, or roll of his eyes—even when he has questions that seem to have no sensible answer (probably because he's asking questions that the director/producer never thought to ask). It’s the sort of thing he never thought would happen to him; he honestly didn’t think there was a person who couldn’t be annoyed, not matter how many questions he asks. But Dylan seems to be that person, and that makes his stomach do flip-flops.

 

Everything else about their time at the movies is—cliché, but in the best way possible. They both blush whenever their hands meet over the popcorn container they’re sharing. At one point, Dylan yawns and stretches, his arm falling and settling around Tango’s shoulders. He takes a second to grin and roll his eyes at the cheesiness, and then snuggles into the other boy a little bit.

* * *

 

“You really seemed to know a lot about that movie,” he says, grinning as they walk out of the theater. He really wants to reach over and grab Dylan’s hand, but he’s not sure if it’s too soon for that; it is only their first date after all. “It’s almost like you’d seen it before!”

 

“Well, you know, this isn’t the first _Fantastic Four_ movie they’ve ever made,” Dylan replies quietly, scratching the back of his neck.

 

“Oh, so you’ve seen the other ones?” he inquires. It’s hard to make out the other boy’s face clearly in the harsh glare of the orange-tinted streetlights, but it seems that Dylan’s face is blushing a deep red.

 

“I uh—well…not really?” Dylan answers hesitantly, his voice tight, almost like he’s embarrassed about something.

 

Tango stops and turns toward Dylan, his eyebrows knitting up in confusion. Dylan stops with him, turning to face him, but he has his eyes firmly trained on the ground. “Wait, if you haven’t seen them then—how did you know so much about this movie?”

 

Dylan peers up at him through his lashes, biting his lip. “I kinda…once I decided I was going to take you to the movies, I picked out the movie and went to see it ahead of time. I thought you might—I knew you were going to have questions and I—I wanted to be able to answer them.  I—well I wanted you to have a good time going to the movies with me, I guess.”

 

Tango stands, lips parted slightly as he beholds the darkly flushing boy standing in front of him. His heart is clenching in his chest, and his chest is so tight, it feels like his breath is being squeezed out of his lungs, because it’s hard to believe that he would do something like that for him. “Why?” he chokes out.

 

Dylan smiles softly, grabbing one of his hands. “I just wanted you to enjoy the movie, and I knew you wouldn’t if you were confused the whole time.”

 

“You…you didn’t have to do that,” Tango says, and he’s not sure whether he’s having a heart attack, or if extreme emotion is what’s making his heart flutter wildly in his chest.

 

“I know…but you were worth doing it for,” Dylan answers, looking ridiculously—he thinks the term is _besotted_ , but he’s not entirely sure.

 

What he is sure of is that he can’t take this anymore. He feels like he’s going to burst if he doesn’t do something. At least he’s seen enough movies to know what he should do next.

 

“Can I kiss you?” he blurts out.

 

Dylan nods, and he starts to lean in carefully, almost shyly. His heart is beating faster than he ever thinks it has before, and he’s so terrified he wants to scream, but when their lips touch, it all falls away; suddenly, he’s feeling nothing but Dylan’s soft lips and the warmth of the other boy’s hands on his hips.

 

He’s never kissed anyone before. He has no idea what to do, but Dylan moves slow, gently guiding and encouraging him, almost like a silent answer to the question he didn’t realize he was asking.

 

And the way the kiss makes him feel is nearly overwhelming. He didn’t realize that every nerve in his body could feel so alive, so electrified; that everything could slow down even as every bit of him seemed to be racing at one hundred miles per hour. This is not everything a kiss could be—everyone used to always talk about tongues and French kissing—but this feels like more than enough. He might honestly die if it gets anymore intense than this.

 

Dylan breaks the kiss after a minute—or maybe five—or possibly just a few seconds; it’s hard for him to tell. His sense of time completely left him in the time that they were kissing.

 

“Wow,” Dylan whispers, his breath ghosting on Tango’s face just fractions of an inch away. “Kissing hasn’t ever felt like that before.”

 

Tango is speechless, huffing out short puffs of air, frozen in place with his hands gripping the other boy’s shoulders like he needs his support to stay upright.

 

“T?” Dylan questions after a long time passes with neither of them speaking a word. He’s been rubbing small circles with his thumb, dragging the digit across the waistband of his pants and his brain, for once, is completely devoid of questions—or any words, for that matter.

 

“Wow,” he finally utters, and it’s barely more that a short exhalation, but it’s enough to cause Dylan to break into an ear-splitting grin that he can’t help but return.

 

“C’mon T, let’s walk back,” Dylan says, finding Tango’s hands with one of his own, while the other drops from his waist to fall limply at Dylan’s side.

 

“Y-yeah,” Tango stutters in agreement, content to let Dylan gently tug him back to their residence hall.

 

In almost no time at all, they’re outside Tango’s room. Dylan stops, eyes practically sparkling behind his glasses as he glances up at him. “I had a great time T. What do you say—how about we do this again some time?”

 

Tango nods vigorously, not trusting his voice to do much more than squeak. He’s not even sure he really needed to answer, because he thinks it’s obvious that he’d give his left arm to spend as much time with Dylan as is possible in the coming days, weeks—maybe even months or years (not that Tango is looking that far ahead yet, he's _not_ shut _up_ ).

 

Dylan tilts forward, and Tango meets him halfway, sharing a quick peck that leaves him just as breathless as exhilarated as their first, longer kiss did.

 

“I’ll see you on Monday T,” Dylan says, taking a half-step back.

 

“No!” Tango croaks, reaching out to gently grab the other boy’s bicep. “Wait, I mean—I'm not asking—I just don’t want to go the whole weekend without seeing you again,” he adds sheepishly.

 

“I know where you are,” Dylan says, smiling softly as he gestures to the door to Tango’s dorm room behind them. “I’ll be around, I promise.”

 

“O-okay,” Tango says quietly, and, embarrassingly, his voice clearly shows just how smitten he is.

 

Dylan’s smile grows, and his expression gets impossibly softer. “Goodnight Tango,” he says. He turns around and walks off towards his own room. Tango watches until he disappears out of sight.

 

Tango turns around and fumbles with the door to his room, barreling inside and flopping down on his bed with the biggest, stupidest grin on his face—a grin that doesn’t fade until he falls asleep in the middle of the night, texting Dylan.

* * *

 

Two weeks later, Tango is in the Haus kitchen after class, hanging out with Bitty. Bitty is over at the counter, stirring up a bowl of fruit that eventually will become a pie, while he sits at the table, snickering every few seconds as he and Dylan rapidly text back and forth.

 

He and Dylan haven’t had a chance to go on many dates since their first—just one actually, because hockey practices have picked up and he’s just so busy—but they still have class together four times a week, and they text almost non-stop when they’re not in their other classes (Tango would text him while he was in his other classes, but he knows that wouldn’t end well—specifically when it comes to his grades).

 

Tango hasn’t told anyone on the team about Dylan, save Bitty. It’s not that he doesn’t trust the other guys—because he does trust them, honestly—but this is his _very first_ relationship. He wants time to figure it out on his own, not while he has 20+ hockey bros breathing down his neck at the same time.

 

His constant texting does seem to be drawing suspicion, especially from Ransom and Holster. So far, he’s managed to keep them off his trail by telling them he’s texting his mom, dad, or brother.

 

“Your family is really clingy,” Holster had shrugged the last time he gave that answer, rolling his eyes. His ruse is still working, but he’s pretty sure there’s only so much longer he can get away with it.

 

“Hey Tango?” Bitty says, a hand suddenly appearing between him and his phone.

 

“What?” he shouts in surprise, phone slipping out of his hand. It tumbles to the table with a dull thwack.

 

Bitty grimaces and picks the device up, handing it to him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’ve just been tryin’ to get your attention for the last five minutes.”

 

“Oh,” Tango frowns guiltily. He knows that he tends to get wrapped up in talking to Dylan, but normally he can tell when other people are trying to talk to him. “I wasn’t trying to ignore you, it’s just—”

 

“You don’t have to explain,” Bitty chuckles, patting his shoulder. “I’ve been doin’ a lot of that myself lately, so I understand the feelin’.”

 

“Yeah, I guess you do,” Tango replies as his cheeks begin to color a light pink.

 

“Anyway, I was just sayin’ that I was thinkin’ I might like to meet the fine gentleman that always has you smilin’ at your phone,” Bitty remarks as he walks back over to the counter.

 

“Oh, um—”

 

“Listen, I know how you feel about the team meetin’ him, and it would just be me, of course,” Bitty adds, stirring his filling vigorously. “But if you still don’t want to, that’s fine. I just thought I’d throw it out there, y’know?”

 

Tango sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It’s hard keeping Dylan a secret from everyone (even Bitty, despite the fact that he talks to Bitty about Dylan all the time—it feels like he’s keeping him a secret by virtue of the fact that Bitty hasn’t met him), and if he wanted him to meet anyone on the hockey team, it would be Bitty. “I—well, I want you to meet him. I have to ask him first to see what he thinks but—yeah, I think I’m okay with you meeting him.”

 

“Great!” Bitty says excitedly, beaming at him. “How ‘bout we meet for coffee one day after the class y’all have together?”

 

“I think that—that probably would be fine but um—let me text him and check,” Tango murmurs, fingers already flying across his phone screen.

 

 **_Tango:_ ** _So_

 **_Tango:_ ** _How would you feel about meeting Bitty for coffee?_

 **_Tango:_ ** _It would be sometime this week, after calc_

**_Dylan:_ ** _Coffee? Really? You don’t like coffee :P_

**_Tango:_ ** _I can have hot chocolate B)_

 **_Tango:_ ** _But I could ask him if you wanted to go somewhere else?_

**_Dylan:_ ** _No, I’m good with meeting for coffee, as long as you’re good with that._

**_Tango:_ ** _Really, it’s fine_

**_Dylan:_ ** _Okay, coffee it is then :)_

 **_Dylan:_ ** _But if you mind me asking, who’s Bitty?_

**_Tango:_ ** _Wait, I haven’t mentioned him before?_

**_Dylan:_ ** _I think once, maybe?_

**_Tango:_ ** _Oh._

 **_Tango:_ ** _Well, he’s like one of my best friends and he’s the only one who knows about you?_

 **_Tango:_ ** _I talk to him about you a lot_

 **_Tango:_ ** _So he really wants to meet you._

**_Dylan:_ ** _He sounds cool_

 **_Dylan:_ ** _So yeah, I’d love to meet him!!! :D_

 **_Dylan:_ ** _Is he free after our calc class tomorrow?_

 

“Hey Bitty, are you free after our calc class tomorrow?” Tango asks, barely glancing up from his phone.

 

“Yeah, I’m free!” Bitty declares brightly. “How about I meet y’all at Annie’s?”

 

“Sure,” Tango replies, already typing out his response to Dylan.

 

 **_Tango:_ ** _He says tomorrow is fine. We can walk over to Annie’s together to meet him._

**_Dylan:_ ** _Sounds great :) I’m looking forward to it!_

* * *

 

Tango is nervous as he walks with Dylan to Annie’s the next day. Bitty is ‘swawesome, and he’s made it sound like he really likes Dylan, but what if after meeting him, he decides he doesn’t? Or what if Bitty and Dylan don’t get along? Getting Bitty’s approval isn’t the most important thing to him, and Bitty and Dylan getting along isn’t the most important thing either, but they’re both things that are pretty damn important to him, regardless.

 

Having Dylan’s fingers entwined with his during the walk across campus would be helping to calm him, except Dylan is clearly quite anxious as well, so the net effect on his nerves ends up being zero.

 

Bitty is already waiting in line for coffee when they arrive at Annie’s, and they cut into the line behind him. Tango inhales deeply and holds his breath as he reaches out and lightly taps Bitty’s shoulder.

 

Bitty whirls around, face lighting up when he registers his identity. “Hey Tango!” he says brightly, quickly hugging him before he turns to his boyfriend. “And you must be Dylan. It’s nice to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much about you already!”

 

“Mostly good things, I hope,” Dylan mumbles, blushing brightly as he extends his free hand out to Bitty.

 

“Tango hasn’t had a bad word to say ‘bout you yet,” Bitty smiles as he shakes Dylan’s hand.

 

“Ahem,” the cashier clears her throat, and Bitty jumps. The line ahead of them has cleared, and the cashier is leaning up against the counter with an unimpressed look on her face.

 

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” Bitty apologizes, quickly crossing over to the counter.

 

They order their drinks, Pumpkin Spice Lattes for both Dylan and Bitty (“Yet another reason for me to like you,” Bitty says quietly, grinning), and a hot chocolate for him. Dylan pays for both of their drinks, and he would’ve argued, but he was chatting with Bitty and didn’t notice.

 

Bitty leads them to a table in the back corner of the café, out of sight from the windows. Tango assumes it’s just in case anyone from the team walks by, which is pretty smart, considering Annie’s is on the way to most everyone’s classes.

 

“So Dylan,” Bitty hums as they sit down, him and Dylan together on one side and Bitty on the other. “Why don’t you tell me a lil bit about you?”

 

“Well,” Dylan murmurs, taking a sip of his drink as he knocks gently into Tango's shoulder. “If T talks about me half as much as you say he does…there isn’t much I can tell you that you don’t already know.”

 

Tango blushes, the tips of his ears feeling hot. He doesn’t mean to continually gush about Dylan, but he’s just so incredible. He gets excited and emotional and it just comes pouring out of him.

 

“Right, right, sweetie, I know,” Bitty laughs softly, shrugging his jacket off over the back of his chair (it’s really not that cold, but Bitty apparently has no resistance to cold, despite being a hockey player—he's from the south, Tango doesn't blame him too much). “I would just like to hear it all comin’ from you.”

 

“Oh. Well, uh, I’m from Providence, I’m going to be studying computer engineering and um…let’s see, what else is there? I’m an only child and I play uh…” Dylan pauses, a brief flash of panic crossing his face before he blurts out, “a lot of video games! Yeah, I play video games a lot. And that’s all there is to know,” he finishes quickly.

 

Dylan’s response was…odd, to say the least, but Tango decides to attribute it to nerves and being put on the spot.

 

“It’s hard comin’ up with things to say about yourself when you’re put on the spot, right?” Bitty chuckles softly, echoing Tango’s own thoughts. “But don’t worry, I’m not here to grill you. I really just thought it’d be nice to hang out with you and Tango for a bit.”

 

Dylan breathes out in relief, his shoulders dropping a few inches, and by extension, Tango feels less tense as well.

 

“And I gotta say Tango, you really weren’t exaggeratin’ when you told me Dylan was super hot.” Bitty winks at him, and he was already blushing, but he feels his face getting warmer at the remark. He feels Dylan’s hand on his thigh as the other boy looks at him with a wicked smirk, and he has to duck his head and close his eyes in an attempt to regain some sense of composure.

 

“Super hot, eh?” someone says after a long beat of silence, and Tango snaps his head up to see the person that said it. Bitty is twisting around in his chair, clinging tightly to the back so he doesn’t fall off.

 

Bitty turns back around after second and slumps down, covering his face. “Oh Lord, this is so embarrassin’,” he mutters as the person sits down next to him, his arm coming to rest on the back of Bitty’s chair. After a second, Bitty lifts his head and looks the other man in the eye, blushing darkly. “Jack, hon—I mean, Jack, what are you doin’ here?”

 

Tango feels his jaw drop. Jack? As in _Jack Zimmermann_? The NHL rookie and former member of the Samwell men’s hockey team? Is currently sitting at their table in Annie’s? Chirping Bitty? Tango can’t contain his excitement.

 

“Mr. Zimmermann. Wow, it’s an honor!” Tango blurts out before he can stop himself.

 

Jack chortles lowly. “You can call me Jack.”

 

“Oh! Thanks Mr. Jack!” Tango replies, and God, he’s sticking his foot in his mouth right now, but he’s just so star-struck because it’s Jack Zimmermann!

 

Jack is quiet for a long second, watching him as he vibrates in his chair. “I’m guessing you’re Tango,” he eventually says.

 

“That is what I am called, yes,” Tango responds, sounding so stilted and awkward that he wants to sink through the floor (or at the very least, bury his head into his boyfriend’s shoulder).

 

Dylan, who has been taking in this conversation silently up to this point, starts to giggle. “Oh my God T, you’re adorable,” he gasps, throwing an arm around him.

 

Jack stiffens up, turning his attention on Dylan for the first time, his fingers tightly curling around the back of Bitty’s chair. “Who are you?” he questions, hostility lacing his tone. Bitty’s eyes start going wide, but Dylan doesn’t flinch.

 

“I’m sorry for not introducing myself,” Dylan wheezes, still trying to catch his breath through giggles. “I’m Dylan, Tango’s boyfriend.”

 

“Oh,” Jack mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “So you’re…” He trails off, sucking in a deep breath.

 

A look of intense concern crosses Bitty’s face and he turns toward Jack. “So that’s why…Jack, were you thinkin’ that I was…?” Bitty asks, the rest of his question unspoken because of where they are; in the middle of Annie’s, surrounded by people they don’t know or trust.

 

“I—no,” Jack mumbles, resolutely shaking his head back and forth. “No, of course not.”

 

“Jack. Jack, c’mon, look at me,” Bitty says, his voice soft and impossibly gentle as he puts a hand on Jack’s arm. “Jack, I’m not upset.”

 

Jack averts his eyes, and Bitty shakes his arm. “No honey, believe me, I’m really not. It’s okay if you were feelin’ that way—”

 

Jack cuts him off. “No it’s not,” he says, still shaking his head. “I’m just—being—distrustful—and possessive.”

 

Bitty’s hand slides up Jack’s arm to his shoulder, and Jack noticeably shivers, his head stilling, as he looks Bitty directly in the eye. “Jack, I want you to tell me how you’re feelin’ okay? I hate when you feel the way you are, y'know, thinkin’ that you’re not good enough for me. Because you are, I promise. I don’t want you feelin’ terrible just cause you think I don’t want you to tell me every time you feel jealous or…y’know...well, I don’t know what it’s like bein’ in your head, but I do understand, okay? I know that sometimes you can’t help the thoughts you have, even when you know they aren’t true. But I can promise you that I want to hear it. I want you to tell me when you’re feelin’ jealous or like you’re not good enough, cause I want to be able to promise that I’d never do anythin’ like that to you because you are good enough. I want to repeat that promise as many times as you need or want to hear it, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Jack whispers.

 

Suddenly, Dylan is in Tango’s ear, and he startles, having been engrossed on the—well, very nearly tear-jerking moment between Jack and Bitty.

 

“Uh, T, what’s going on?”

 

“Oh um,” Tango stammers in reply, pulling back slightly from the blond haired boy to look him in eye. “I’d really like to tell you but—I don’t think I can say.”

 

“Don’t think you can say—oh, right! Dylan doesn’t know!” Bitty pipes up. He’s turned back so he's facing them again. Jack’s arm is still draped over the back of his chair, but Jack isn’t frowning; his expression is now decidedly neutral, though there is still some visible tension in his shoulders.

 

Tango nods; he was told not to tell anyone, and he didn’t. Not even his boyfriend who has no connection to the hockey team besides him and probably wouldn’t have any reason to care.

 

“Oh! Just give me a second,” Bitty says before leaning over and whispering into Jack’s ear. Jack’s brow furrows, and he glances suspiciously across the table at him and Dylan. They go back and forth for several minutes before Jack sighs and nods.

 

“Yeah, you can tell him,” Bitty clarifies.

 

“Jack and Bitty are dating,” Tango says quietly into Dylan’s ear.

 

Dylan’s mouth slowly falls open as his eyes flit between Jack and Bitty. “You are _the_ Jack Zimmermann, right? Like, professional hockey player Jack Zimmermann?”

 

Jack nods, the corner of his mouth turned up in an amused, half-grin.

 

“So that means you’re…and you two are…woah,” Dylan whispers, rubbing one of his eyes with his free hand. “This is uh…this is turning into quite the coffee, um…meeting.”

 

“I still can’t believe you’re having coffee with us!” Tango exclaims before clamping his hands over his mouth.

 

“He’s almost as bad as Chowder was,” Jack says with just the faintest hint of mirth.

 

“Oh hush,” Bitty says, swatting at Jack playfully. “Chowder got over it eventually.”

 

As Jack and Bitty devolve into exchanging chirps, Dylan sighs and turns, propping an elbow up on the table and resting his head on his hand. “Well alright T, since they're a bit occupied with each other at the moment, you might as well go ahead and get your teasing out of the way.”

 

“Tease you for what?” Tango questions, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

 

“I finally had to ask you a question that only you knew the answer to,” Dylan shrugs.

 

“Why would I tease you for that?” Tango inquires. There are lots of things that he would try to chirp Dylan for, but this wouldn’t ever be on the list.

 

“Because I never have to ask you about things and…I don’t know, I thought you might want to maybe like, gloat about our roles being reversed,” Dylan answers quietly, eyes downcast.

 

Tango shakes his head. “I wouldn’t ever want to do that,” he says emphatically. “You’re always so patient when it comes to my questions, so why wouldn’t I like, do the same for you. It’s a two-way street and just because you don’t ask questions the way I do doesn’t mean I shouldn’t react to them the same way you do.”

 

Dylan grins at him, his eyes—maybe even his entire face lighting up with an emotion that he might just possibly dare to label as love-struck. “Anyone else I’ve ever met wouldn’t have passed up an opportunity like that but you—you really are something Tango,” Dylan says, pecking him on the cheek. “Please don’t ever change.”

 

“Oh really,” Jack says flatly, apparently unmoved by the moment just shared between them. “If he’s not supposed to change, how is he supposed to grow and become a better person?”

 

“W-well sir, I mean—I was just s-saying that I think—he shouldn’t ch-change the key parts of himself,” Dylan stutters, his posture stiffening up.

 

Tango watches in fascination as Jack turns his usually calm, collected boyfriend into a yammering mess. Jack has a naturally intimidating air that, if he were being honest, would get to him too.

 

“Hmm, I see. And what are those ‘key parts’ of Tango that you’re referring to?” Jack questions, leaning forward slightly and narrowing his eyes.

 

“Well, s-sir, I was just talking about his k-kindness a-and his natural curiosity,” Dylan responds, blushing darkly as he glances over at him. “I love that he’s always willing to ask questions and that he always wants to understand things.”

 

“Surely all those questions must get tiring,” Jack remarks accusatorily, raising an eyebrow.

 

“No sir!” Dylan asserts quickly. “I will never get tired of answering his questions!”

 

“That’s a pretty strong statement to make,” Jack says, frowning questioningly. “Are you sure you can follow through on that?”

 

“Yes sir! I think his questioning is cute! Never annoying!” Dylan practically shouts back at Jack, his voice clearly unwavering and sure.

 

As Jack continues to interrogate Dylan, Tango feels incredible warmth spreading through his chest. Because on some, instinctual level, he already knew that Dylan’s attitude about his constant, incessant questioning was different from nearly everyone else he’s ever met. But to hear his boyfriend say it out loud, so confidently and so resoundingly makes his heart flutter.

 

It’s a few questions later when it just crashes over him, overwhelms him, and he leans over and kisses Dylan. It’s not a long or deep kiss, but it’s still wholly intense and full of emotion.

 

“Thank you,” Tango mumbles, his hands resting at the base of Dylan’s neck.

 

“For what?” Dylan asks, eyes unfocused as his mouth hangs partially open.

 

“I don’t know,” Tango whispers, looking down at the ground. “For everything, I guess.”

 

Dylan puts a hand on his chin, lifting his head so he can peck him on the lips quickly. “Um, you’re welcome T,” he says quietly, his face as red as a tomato.

 

“Look at them. They’re adorable!” Bitty squeals excitedly, smacking Jack’s arm repeatedly.

 

Jack’s expression finally softens. “Yeah, they are,” he says, smiling softly, but he’s looking at Bitty rather than them.

 

The rest of their—well, Tango is going to call it a double date—goes well. There’s no more interrogation, just two couples hanging out, having coffee (or hot chocolate in his case).

* * *

 

A few weeks later, midterms begin their assault on the students of Samwell. Tango spends a lot of time during the preceding weeks in Dylan’s room, the two of them studying together. And they do actually study, because he desperately needs the help, so Dylan tries his best to keep the— _ahem_ —distractions to a minimum.

 

Their nearly two-month-old relationship is still marvelous. Dates are still at a premium for them, because hockey + classes = a special kind of hell, but they still get to spend a lot of time together. They mostly spend it studying, during which, all he does is ask questions. And somewhat startlingly, Dylan still has not seemed to get tired of his persistent questioning (he remembers what Dylan said to Jack, but a part of him still expects Dylan to get fatigued by it).

 

To this point, they’ve been painstakingly deliberate and slow with their relationship, mostly by his own insistence. They haven’t done anything more than some heavy kissing, handholding (a lot of handholding), and a few naps together. And even though it’s been two months, they still haven’t said their first _I love you_ ’s yet. But he finds the pace to be perfect; with this being his first relationship, going slow gives him a chance to feel his way through each new thing that comes his way, in his own time.

 

Right now happens to be one of the few moments over the last week that Tango's not with Dylan though. He’d decided to stop by the Haus, mostly for some pie, and to talk to Bitty to give himself a break from seemingly ceaseless studying.

 

Or at least, that’s what he’d been planning on doing, until Holster had come barreling down the stairs.

 

“C’mon Tango. Get over here,” Holster barks, standing just outside the kitchen.

 

Tango whips his head around, peeking at Holster from over his shoulder. “What? Why?” he questions, staying firmly planted in his chair at the table.

 

“Ransom wants to prank the lacrosse bros and you’re coming to help,” Holster answers with a roll of his eyes as he steps into the room.

 

“Why would we prank the lacrosse team?” Tango asks, squinting up in confusion at the blond boy towering over him.

 

“Two reasons my dear tadpole,” Holster says, his loud voice reverberating in the small space of the kitchen. He throws an arm around him and unwillingly yanks him to his feet. “You see, Ransom is what I like to call a coral reef—”

 

“Why would you call him that?” Tango inquires, because what do coral reefs have to do with Ransom?

 

“If you would let me _finish_ , I will tell you,” Holster growls, scowling at him.

 

“Holster!” Bitty snaps, turning around suddenly. “Watch your tone with Tango, mister. He’s just curious, and you weren't exactly bein' quick to get to your explanation.”

 

“Sorry Bits,” Holster says quickly—insincerely—to the other boy before turning his attention back to him. “Tango, do you know what happens to coral reefs when they’re disturbed?”

 

Tango shakes his head. He’s not a biology major, why would he know?

 

“They die,” Holster continues gravely (which seems like a bit overkill, if you ask him). “And so it is with Ransom, my dear bro. If you do not comply with his demands during midterms and exams, he will _die_. Or at the very least, he _will_ fail his classes.”

 

Tango opens his mouth to ask Holster another question (because it’s Friday and midterms are all but over), but his co-captain holds up a hand to silence him before he can.

 

“And the reason he has chosen to prank the lacrosse team is because of the _sacred_ bylaws,” Holster adds, his tone and expression still more serious than he thinks the situation warrants. “In those sacred bylaws, it states, and I quote: ‘Ffffuck the lacrosse team!’”

 

“What the hell does that mean?” Tango asks, because that could mean any number of things, including the _literal_ interpretation.

 

“It means that it’s your solemn duty, as a member of this team, to hate the lacrosse team and everything they stand for,” Holster responds, just as Ransom comes stomping down the stairs.

 

“Holtzy, are we going?” Ransom bellows, which wasn’t necessary given his close proximity to them.

 

“Yes Rans, just a second,” Holster calls back, using the arm around him to sweep Tango around and out of the kitchen before he can protest.

 

Tango's always hated pranks. Having been the subject of more than a few himself, he knows that more often than not, they’re not funny. They either cause physical damage, or they emotionally hurt the subject. “I really don’t—” he starts to object, but Holster simply cuts him off.

 

“Bellyache all you want, you’re not going to get out of this,” Holster says, shaking his head in disapproval.

 

So that’s how Tango's now helping Ransom and Holster break into the lacrosse house. The prank is actually pretty simple, and seems to be mostly annoying, more than anything else. What they do is check all the ceiling fans in the house and make sure they’re set to turn on with the lights. Once they do that, Ransom and Holster dump an entire container of glitter onto the blades of each fan. He can’t help but cringe; it’s going to be hell for the lacrosse team to clean up.

 

They’re methodically but quickly working their way through the house, setting this up in every room, until they happen to reach a room that’s occupied.

 

“Oh shit,” Holster says, perhaps a little too loudly because the figure sleeping in the bed stirs, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

 

“Hey, what are you doing in here?” he demands in a voice that, over the sudden commotion of Ransom and Holster scrambling over each other, sounds vaguely familiar. But Tango doesn’t have time to check, because they’re not supposed to be here; they turn tail and bolt from the house immediately.

 

They burst out of the front door and tear down the sidewalk and across the street to the Haus as quickly as possible. They manage to slam the door to the Haus shut just as the lacrosse team member steps out of his own. Ransom and Holster are giggling uncontrollably, but Tango’s just trying to catch his breath.

 

“Thanks for the help man,” Holster says, smacking him on the shoulder as he follows Ransom back up to the attic.

 

Tango heads back to the kitchen, where Bitty is looking out the window at the lacrosse house and shaking his head. He goes back to finishing his pie while he waits for his heart to slow to something resembling a normal rhythm (God he hates pranks).

 

Once he’s calmed down, he heads back to his dorm to get himself ready for his and Dylan’s long-planned, end of midterm week, celebration date.

 

When he meets Dylan at the restaurant, prank long forgotten in favor of fretting over his outfit, he’s startled to see that his boyfriend appears to be literally sparkling. And he gets that Dylan is pretty incredible, even angelic sometimes, but this has to be a figment of his imagination.

 

“Are you really sparkling, or am I just imagining things?” he asks for confirmation, once they’re seated at their table.

 

Dylan sighs, frowns, and shakes his head. “Sadly, you’re not imagining anything. Some idiots decided to put a bunch of glitter on the ceiling fans at my team’s house, and I got stuck with cleaning it up because I was the one who let it happen. I don’t know who it was for sure, but I strongly suspect it was those two idiots on the hockey team. Apparently they’re always giving my team a bunch of shit.”

 

“You mean Ransom and Holster?” Tango replies casually. “Yeah, I don’t know what they were think—”

 

He pauses as his brain catches up with what Dylan said. _My team_. _Glitter_. _Hockey team_. He lets out a strangled yell. _“Shit!”_

 

“Woah T, what’s going on?” Dylan questions as half the restaurant turns to gawk at them.

 

“ _Your_ team’s house? You’re not—please don’t tell me you’re on the lacrosse team,” he pleads, reaching for Dylan’s hand across the table.

 

Dylan takes his hand, but doesn’t answer, biting his lip instead as he peers down at the menu, his fingers lazily tracing the bold-faced text.

 

“Please, tell me you’re not,” he repeats, and it’s almost a whine. Dylan can’t—he just can’t be on the lacrosse team because then that would mean— _“…it’s your solemn duty, as a member of this team, to hate the lacrosse team and everything they stand for,”_ Holster had said—he would have to hate Dylan and he _can’t_ —and he _won’t_.

 

“I can’t,” Dylan says quietly. “I’m on the lacrosse team Tango.”

 

Tango's stomach drops through the floor because the _bylaws_ and God, he’s dating a member of _the lacrosse team_ and this is going to be so, very _bad_. “How come you never told me?” he asks, and since he’s panicked, his voice squeaks and jumps an octave halfway through.

 

“Well, when we first met, it was in class and I had no idea, and neither of us talked about our teams for a couple weeks cause there was just so much other stuff to talk about,” Dylan answers. He’s switched from messing around with his menu to idly stirring his glass of water with the straw. “And after you mentioned you played hockey…well, you said you did in high school and I thought that maybe…you stopped? I don’t know, I guess because I liked you so much, I just decided to be in denial about it. And then I met Bitty and Jack and I just knew you were on the hockey team. Like, I couldn’t be in denial about it any longer. But I didn’t want it to be a problem so…I thought it would be better if you didn’t know about me…being on the lacrosse team.”

 

“So you thought it would be better if I found out like this? Or worse, having one of my teammates find out before me?” Tango questions, past the point of pretending he’s not hysterical and nearly losing it.

 

“No, Tango, I promise I didn’t!” Dylan replies quickly, squeezing his hand. “I just…I couldn’t figure out how to tell you. But I promise I meant to, soon.”

 

Tango closes his eyes and focuses on the warmth of Dylan’s hand and his breathing until he starts to feel somewhat calm again. That is, until a thought hits him that nearly sends him spiraling down again.

 

“S-so…d-does this mean we have to b-break up?” he asks, his voice rising again as it begins to waver, and his vision starting to blur as his eyes water. Maybe he hasn’t said it yet, but he loves Dylan. He couldn’t stand the thought of having to break up with him.

 

“Tango—oh my God Tony no!” Dylan nearly shouts. “Just because our teams are rivals and are supposed to hate each other doesn’t mean we have to break up! I mean, it might make us a kind of Romeo and Juliet but—we can still do this, I promise,” Dylan continues resoundingly. “I mean, i-if you want to, of course.”

 

“Of course I want to! I’m just—I’m scared of what might happen if either of our teams found out,” Tango sniffles as Dylan reaches across the table, using his thumb to swipe the tears off his cheeks.

 

“So we’re just really careful. We make sure they won’t find out. We don’t talk about each other to our teams. We make them think that we’re actually single. If they don’t suspect that you’re seeing anyone, they can’t figure it out or even guess at it,” Dylan explains, squeezing his hand again in comfort.

 

Which that sounds like a great idea, but Tango's never been good at being careful and watching his mouth. “O-okay,” he replies uncertainly. “But—but what if they somehow still find out?” _What if I accidentally tell them?_ he doesn’t say, though he feels that that’s the most likely way his team would find out.

 

“Can we cross that bridge when we get there?” Dylan answers, it’s a bit of a terse response, which startles him. But their waiter comes to the table before he can say anything, so he just nods, ignoring the fact that Dylan pretty much just brushed off his question.

* * *

 

The rest of dinner is quiet, because Tango can’t think of anything to say that isn’t some kind of “what if they find out” question, and Dylan pretty much made it clear that he didn’t want to deal with that line of questioning. Dylan notices his silence, and frowns, but doesn’t push him about it until they’re walking back to their team houses (he has a team bonding thing, and Dylan just wanted to walk him home).

 

“You’ve been really quiet T,” Dylan remarks, looking at him with soft, concerned eyes. “And you haven’t asked any questions since before dinner. What’s going on?”

 

“I just—I can’t help thinking about the ‘what if’s but—you didn’t seem to want to talk about it,” Tango shrugs, watching his feet as they shuffle along the sidewalk.

 

“Of course I want to talk about it T,” Dylan says, sounding thoroughly confused. “Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

 

“I tried to ask you about all the ‘what if’ questions I have but you just—brushed me off,” Tango explains, trying to rush through it because he feels guilty for making a big deal about it at all. Dylan’s answered so many questions from him the whole time they’ve been dating, and him dismissing only _one_ shouldn’t be making him this upset.

 

“Oh—oh _shit_ ,” Dylan groans, stopping him and stepping in front of him. “I really—I swear I wasn’t blowing your question off, okay babe? It’s just that the waiter was walking up and I was trying to put the conversation on pause for a moment. I didn’t mean for you to think that I didn’t want to answer your question I was just—rattled and it came out wrong. Not that that’s really an excuse—I’m really, really sorry babe.”

 

“Can I ask n—wait, did you just call me babe?” Tango inquires, the tips of his ears starting to feel hot.

 

“Um,” Dylan utters, his face already turning a dark red. “It depends?”

 

“Depends on what?” Tango asks, because why would what Dylan said depend on something?

 

“On whether or not you liked it,” Dylan mumbles.

 

Oh. Tango stops for a moment, turning it over in his head; he definitely liked the way it made all of him feel warm and fuzzy inside, and the idea that Dylan is starting to feel comfortable enough to call him cutesy pet names is—it’s great. “I—yeah, I like it,” he replies after a moment.

 

“Okay…babe,” Dylan says, and they’re both blushing and grinning widely, and he feels happy as they start strolling down the street again.

 

But it’s not a feeling that lasts very long, because all too soon, they’re standing on the sidewalk between their team’s houses(/hauses).

 

“So…what do you want me to do if…somehow, they find out?” Tango asks again, because he still doesn’t have an answer, and if he has to wing it, he’ll certainly fuck it up.

 

“Call me,” Dylan says, stepping in front of him again, the other boy’s hands settling on his hips. “Call me right away and we’ll figure it out. I wish—” Dylan pauses, sighing as he runs a hand up his side. “I wish I knew what to tell you to do, like exactly? But other than just to let me know—I don’t know how we would deal with it right now, because I need to think about it. I’m sorry that’s all I have for you.”

 

“What if I can’t call you?” Tango questions, because he wouldn’t put anything past these guys—okay, he wouldn’t put anything past _Ransom and Holster_.

 

“Why wouldn’t you be able to?”

 

“I don’t know what they would do. I mean, they might take my phone,” Tango shrugs in reply. “I’ve never seen something like that happen, but with Ransom and Holster, you don’t know what might happen. They’re both wild cards.”

 

“Alright then, let’s see…hmm,” Dylan hums, his forehead scrunching up like it does when he’s thinking hard (he thinks it’s really cute). “Wait, Bitty lives in the house, right?”

 

“Haus,” Tango corrects for some reason. “And yeah,” he adds, frowning because what would Bitty have to do with this?

 

“Okay, so Haus. Anyway, what I’m saying is that Bitty knows who I am, right? So he could find me if something goes down and you can’t contact me yourself,” Dylan clarifies.

 

Tango nods in response. “Oh. That…that makes sense,” he mumbles quietly, looking into Dylan’s bright, cerulean eyes.

 

“Okay, so now we have a plan in place,” Dylan says, cupping his cheek. “And look, no matter what happens in the coming days, I promise it’s going to be okay.”

 

“How can you say that?” Tango whispers back, because he doesn’t believe that it will be okay no matter what; there are so many unforeseen things that could happen.

 

“Because I—I just know it will be,” Dylan shrugs, his thumb dragging across his chin. “Stay calm, and we’ll be fine, okay?”

 

Tango nods. Something about the confidence in Dylan’s voice, the sureness in his eyes is what makes him believe. He leans in and kisses Dylan, for a long time, and then they part.

 

He crosses to his side of the street, stopping when he reaches the porch, but Dylan is already inside his house, and so he trudges up the stairs into his Haus.

 

“It’s about time you showed up!” Holster bellows as he and Ransom put a hand on each of his shoulders and steer him into the living room. It happens the second Tango walks in the door, and he doesn’t even have a second to gather himself.

 

“Let’s see Holtzy, what do we have?” Ransom muses as they shove him onto the couch and stand in front of him.

 

“He’s late.”

 

“Well-dressed.”

 

“And that grin he had on his face when he walked in was pretty stupid,” Holster continues, smirking like the cat who got the canary. “Rans, I do think that Tango, our dear tadpole, has been holding out on us.”

 

“H-holding out? On what?” Tango stutters, feigning ignorance. It’s clear they already have a beat on him, but he has to deny it for as long as he can. Though he’s not sure how long that will be, considering he was already on edge and unsettled when he walked in the door, and this is doing nothing to help him calm down. And when he’s feeling like this…his mouth becomes a loose cannon.

 

“Yeah man, holding out! C’mon, you have to give us the deets!” Ransom exclaims excitedly.

 

“De—deets? What are deets?” Tango stammers; he swears he’s never heard the term before in his life.

 

“Deets, my young Tadpole, is when you share, with your fellow teammates, everything there is to know about your special lady,” Holster says, flopping down on the couch next to him.

 

“Is she a good kisser?” Ransom continues, doing the same and slinging an arm around him.

 

“How good is she in bed?”

 

“What’s her favorite color?”

 

“Does she like hockey?”

 

“And most importantly—”

 

“How good is the sex?” they ask together, ending the rapid-fire, back and forth questioning that’s left him dizzy.

 

“Shitty would have y’all’s hides if he were here,” Bitty sighs from his place perched on an armchair across the room from them. He’s shaking his head, and he looks thoroughly disappointed.

 

“What? What did we do?” Holster frowns, eyes flitting between him, Bitty, and Ransom.

 

“Does the term _heteronormativity_ ring a bell at all?” Bitty says pointedly, narrowing his gaze on the two boys on either side of Tango. “Lord, I swear. Shitty graduates and suddenly there isn’t someone to lecture you every day, and y’all slip right back into old habits, like y’all never listened to a word he ever said.”

 

“Oh,” Ransom says, glancing down at the ground for a long second.

 

“Okay then, so is your significant other a guy or a girl?” Holster asks immediately, not missing a beat.

 

“He’s a guy,” Tango lets slip out of his mouth before he can stop himself. There goes his mouth, speaking without permission and—shit, this isn’t good. He wasn’t even supposed to say he was dating anyone at all! “I m-mean, it _would_ be a guy,” he tries to correct himself quickly before Ransom and Holster catch his mistake.

 

“Aww, it’s cute that you think we didn’t hear that,” Holster chortles, knocking into his shoulder somewhat forcefully.

 

“So, now we know that you are dating a guy,” Ransom grins in satisfaction.

 

“And since you are a tadpole, new to the Samwell dating scene, you would have no idea who to date, and who to avoid,” Holster continues (and it’s kind of scary how they seem to know how to seamlessly finish each other’s sentences).

 

“Cause bro, let us tell you,” Ransom says, shaking his head. “We know all the upperclassmen here, and there are some real douches on this campus.”

 

“So just give us his name, and we can tell you whether you, my dear tadpole, have _chosen wisely_ ,” Holster says gravely before high-fiving Ransom over his head.

 

“Sick reference bro,” Ransom replies.

 

Tango's not giving them Dylan’s name, on the off-chance that they would recognize it. “You—you wouldn’t know him,” he deflects. “He’s also a freshman.”

 

Ransom and Holster gasp, covering their mouths simultaneously. “Rans, this is even worse than we thought.”

 

“Dating someone without telling us and picking someone we wouldn’t know? Something seems real fishy here, Holtzy.”

 

“Perhaps,” Holster says, absently scratching at his chin. “But that is something that can be quickly remedied. And again, all we need is his name.”

 

“Ah, good thinking!” Ransom praises, smacking Holster’s thigh (which, okay that’s—that’s kind of an intimate place to be touching Holster). “That’s all we need. Then we can do some light Facebook stalking.”

 

“Check out his Twitter too,” Holster adds.

 

“Not to mention Instagram as well.”

 

The pace of Ransom and Holster’s conversation is moving so quickly that Tango can’t even keep up. He’s reeling, off-balance and nervous, which is why his mouth shoots off. “I’m not telling you Dylan’s name!”

 

His co-captains stop and smirk at each other. “Dylan, hmm?”

 

“It’s not enough to work with yet,” Holster comments.

 

“But we’re getting closer,” Ransom adds on, his voice all too annoyingly smug.

 

Fifteen minutes later, they’re still pressing him for Dylan’s last name, and Tango's at a point that he simply cannot take it anymore. He just wants to get out of here, and Ransom and Holster seem to have no interest in letting him do so until they get what they want. And so it’s a conscious decision when he mumbles “Fox” under his breath.

 

“I’m sorry, what?” Holster questions, stopping his current line of inquiry in its tracks.

 

“Dylan Fox,” he repeats from behind his hands. It hasn’t even been three full hours since he found out Dylan was on the lacrosse team, and he’s already failed at keeping it a secret. He did what Dylan told him not to do, which was panic. His team now knows, which means it’s only a matter of time before Dylan’s team knows. God, he’s a _terrible_ boyfriend.

 

“He did just say what I think he said, right?” Holster asks Ransom over his head.

 

“Yes Holtzy, he definitely did,” Ransom replies, his tone of voice clearly displeased, almost to the point of being angry.

 

“You have to break up with him right now immediately,” Holster orders, putting a hand on his shoulder.

 

Tango straightens up and forcibly pushes Holster’s hand off his shoulder. _“No,”_ he retorts defiantly.

 

“No?” Holster says, jolting back as his eyes go wide. “Rans, did he just say no?”

 

“Yes he did Holtzy,” Ransom growls, glaring harshly at him.

 

Holster narrows his eyes, scowling. “I don’t think you understand Tango. That wasn’t a request.”

 

“Wait, what’s going on?” Dex pipes up, looking between the three boys confusedly.

 

“Tango has violated the _sacred_ bylaws of the Samwell men’s hockey team by—” Holster pauses, apparently to generate some kind of dramatic tension. “Dating a member of the lacrosse team!”

 

“Dun dun dahhhhhhhhhh!” Ransom sings while Holster gasps loudly. Their theatrics have very little effect on the boys gathered in the living room. They all look on, expressions varying between complete disinterest and unimpressed.

 

“And…why does that violate the bylaws?” Whiskey, his fellow tadpole, asks.

 

“Rule thirteen of the official, _sacred_ bylaws of the Samwell men’s hockey team states, and I quote—”

 

“Ffffuck the lacrosse team!” Ransom finishes for Holster.

 

“Dudes, like, chill,” Nursey comments coolly from his position sprawled out, and possibly on, Dex ( _and Jesus, first Jack and Bitty, then Ransom and Holster, and now Dex and Nursey? Is everyone on this team fucking each other?_ Tango briefly wonders). “It says ‘fuck the lacrosse team.’ I’m just saying, if you want to look at it _technically_ , Tango isn’t breaking any bylaws because he’s _literally_ fucking someone on the lacrosse team.”

 

“That’s not what the bylaw means!” Holster shrieks indignantly. The room promptly bursts into a fit of hysterics over bylaws, technicalities, and…honestly, Tango doesn’t know for sure. He just knows that the sudden chaos gives him a perfectly opportunity to slip out of the living room and out onto the porch.

 

His hands shake as he punches _Call_. Dylan is likely going to yell at him, or at the very least, be incredibly disappointed. This situation could very well cause their first fight, and he’s not sure he’s ready for that yet.

 

“Miss me already T?” Dylan answers the call, his voice light and playful.

 

“Well, y-yeah,” Tango stutters, scratching the back of his neck as he holds the phone to his ear. He says it because it’s true; he always misses Dylan when they’re not physically together. “B-but—that’s not why I’m c-calling.”

 

“Oh shit, did they see us when we were saying goodbye?” Dylan asks, his tone immediately shifting from cheerful to concerned.

 

“No,” Tango says, sitting down cross-legged on the warped and splintered wood that makes up the porch. “They just—started asking me all kinds of questions and I just couldn’t keep up and sometimes I can’t control my mouth and I accidentally let some stuff about you like, slip—”

 

“Tango—”

 

“And then I panicked and cracked and I told them and so now they know and I know you’re mad—”

 

“Tango—”

 

“And I’m just so sorry I’m honestly a terrible boyfriend cause you told me—”

 

“Tony!” Dylan says strongly, making Tango stop in his tracks at his first name. Dylan always calls him Tango or T, never Tony.

 

“What?” Tango asks. His voice is quiet and timid; Dylan must be really upset if he used his first name.

 

“I’m not mad at you, okay?” Dylan answers firmly.

 

“Wait, you’re really not?” Tango replies, trying to not sound horribly surprised and failing.

 

“No. The whole point of keeping our relationship secret from our teams was to make it easier but—you know, there was no reason we had to,” Dylan responds. “So they know. Big whoop. As long as we don’t let them get to us, it doesn’t matter that they know.”

 

“Ransom and Holster were really upset,” Tango says, blowing out a shaky breath. “They told me I had to break up with you. They told me that I didn’t have a choice.”

 

“What did you say?”

 

“I told them no, obviously!” Tango snaps angrily. “Why would you even think—”

 

“I didn’t think you actually would Tango, please don’t get angry,” Dylan sighs. “It’s just—you could’ve told them yes, just to get them off your back, and then not done anything.”

 

“Damnit,” Tango hisses harshly. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

 

“Hey T, stop,” Dylan says insistently. “Don’t beat yourself up about this. None of it is your fault.”

 

“Who else is there to blame here,” Tango quips, shifting so that his knees are in close to his chest, burying his face in between them.

 

“Ransom and whatever you said his name was,” Dylan answers. “They’re the ones that think some stupid team feud is more important than love.”

 

It’s a good thing Tango is already sitting down, because if he wasn’t, he’d be going tumbling to the floor right now.

 

 _Love_.

 

It feels like the world grinds to a halt. The cars in the street seem to slow, moving in slow motion, and so do the trees bending under the weight of the wind. His entire body feels warm, from his toes right up to the very last hair on his head, and there’s a grin that’s spreading across his face that he wouldn’t want to fight, even if he could.

 

“T, are you still there?” Dylan asks after a long moment, dragging Tango out of his reverie.

 

“You—you love me?” Tango questions, voice soft, hopeful, and very nearly giddy.

 

“Yeah Tony, I love you,” Dylan says, and Tango giggles. Sure, maybe Ransom and Holster don’t want them to be together, and sure, this night has been nothing but a shit show so far, but Dylan loves him, and nothing else matters to him.

 

“I love you too,” Tango says once he’s stopped giggling, which is a few minutes later— _God_ , he’s just so happy!

 

Dylan breathes out, a heavy sigh that’s easily audible over the phone, and Tango realizes belatedly that Dylan’s probably been holding his breath this whole time, waiting for him to answer.

 

“Okay so just know that—no matter what happens, we love each other and that means it’ll be okay,” Dylan says, and Tango has to believe he’s right. “And just so you know uh—the lacrosse team knows about us too. But they really don’t care so once Rrrr—whatever those two guys names are are on board, it’ll be over so just—hold on, no matter what happens.”

 

“Okay Dylan, I promise I will,” Tango says, suddenly feeling a great burst of determination to resist and to convince Ransom and Holster to see his side of it all. “I probably should go but—I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Dylan replies, and Tango can hear the smile in the other boy’s voice, one that matches his own. “I hope I’ll see you soon.”

 

“Yeah, me too. Bye,” Tango says, and then hangs up just as Ransom and Holster step out the front door.

 

“Oh good, you haven’t left yet,” Ransom says, heaving a sigh.

 

“Uh, I was actually just—” Tango starts to say, taking a step away from them because he really doesn’t like the looks on their faces. Very quickly, there are hands on his shoulders, steering him back toward the Haus instead.

 

“No, you’re not going anywhere,” Holster commands, somewhat roughly shoving him back into the living room.

 

“Why not?” Tango asks as his stomach feels like it’s sinking.

 

“Because by a vote of two to zero, Holtzy and I have decided to place you under Haus arrest, so long as you continue to defy the _sacred_ bylaws of this team,” Ransom says with grave intensity, pulling the sunglasses off his face (wait, when did he put sunglasses on?).

 

Which, okay, that definitely sucks, but being forced to stay in the Haus isn’t that bad a thing, so long as he has his—

 

“Also, we’re going to need your phone,” Holster instructs, and Tango instinctively clutches it to his chest.

 

“You can’t take it. What if my mom or dad calls?” Tango argues passionately. If he has to stay in the Haus, then his phone is his only link to his boyfriend—no, Dylan is more than that—he’s the person Tango loves. What is he going to do if he doesn’t have that?

 

“Then we’ll let you have it,” Ransom says, snatching the device from his hand. “But otherwise, you can’t have it. We aren’t going to let you talk to—” he pauses and shudders. “That member of the evil lacrosse team.”

 

“He’s not evil,” Tango snarls angrily, because how _dare_ they? “If you just got to know him—”

 

“No,” Holster retorts sharply, and then sighs. “Look, I’m sure you like him a lot, but no frog—nay, _tadpole_ —can just come in and change the _sacred_ bylaws. So no, we won’t get to know him because it’s just pointless.”

 

“I love him!” Tango says, jaw clenched and hands balled up into fists at his sides. “You’re both being ridiculous!”

 

“Hey, we’re your captains! Watch what you’re saying!” Ransom barks back.

 

“Rans, cool it just a little bit,” Holster whispers, putting a hand on Ransom’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, he just got caught up,” he says to Tango. “Anyway, you’ll be sleeping on the couch. And we’ll be keeping watch right at the bottom of the stairs.”

 

“All night,” Ransom adds pointedly. “So don’t get any ideas about sneaking out!”

 

And with that, they walk out of the living room, disappearing around the corner. Tango only hears one set of footsteps trudging up the stairs and he groans, flopping down on the couch.

* * *

 

Bitty comes in a little while later and wordlessly drops off a bundle of blankets for him, and Tango makes himself a bed on the couch, but he doesn’t sleep. He can’t fight off the rising sense of dread he’s feeling. Ransom and Holster have already reacted quite extremely to this. How much farther are they willing to go to fight his relationship?

 

Tango stumbles into the kitchen the next morning when bitty does. He half-notices, out of the corner of his eye, the tall, blond figure sitting on the bottom step, and he rubs his temples to combat the headache it gives him.

 

“Mornin’ Tango,” Bitty greets, with more cheer in his voice than Tango feels the situation warrants. “How did you sleep?”

 

“I didn’t,” Tango mutters bitterly, absent-mindedly reaching into his pocket. He wants to grab his phone to text Dylan; he needs to complain about not being able to sleep and is thusly exhausted. But his pocket is empty, and he can’t help that he lets out a loud sound, a cross between a groan, a whine, and a cry of despair.

 

“I’m really sorry this is happenin’ sweetie,” Bitty says, pushing a plate of pancakes in his direction (which…didn’t Bitty just get in here like, two minutes ago?). “But with Ransom and Holster, you just gotta let them have their moment and wait for it blow over.”

 

“But already miss Dylan so much!” Tango whimpers.

 

“I understand, I swear I really do,” Bitty says sympathetically, sliding into the chair across from him.

 

“No you don’t! They took my phone so now I can’t even text him!” Tango wails, and he’s honestly startled by how desperate he sounds. _It’s only been a few hours; for fuck’s sake Tony, get a hold of yourself!_

 

“You don’t think Jack’s never incommunicado?” Bitty says, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Tango says, flushing from embarrassment.

 

“It’s okay. I get that this is really hard on you,” Bitty remarks. He pauses, glancing around Tango, and then over his shoulder before turning back to him. “Look,” he whispers, leaning in close to Tango. “I think I can help you out with the phone thing. I can probably convince Chowder, Dex, Nursey, and Whiskey to share their phones with you when Ransom and Holster have their backs turned. Do you know Dylan’s number?”

 

Tango nods vigorously, grinning ever so slightly.

 

“Okay, give me an hour and I’ll get some kind of rotation set up with them, alright,” Bitty finishes.

 

“What about seeing him?” Tango questions, murmuring softly. If Bitty has enough power to get him a phone for a while, maybe he can find a way to get him out of the Haus. “We meet up every day.”

 

Bitty sighs, sitting back and glancing around the kitchen. “I might be able to distract them with a pie. But that’s no guarantee.”

 

“I’m willing to try,” Tango replies rapidly. “If I get caught, so what? They can’t do much worse than they already have.”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Bitty shakes his head, pursing his lips. “The key is to not upset them. That’s what’ll get them to back off.”

 

“I want to try anyway,” Tango answers confidently. He’s going to do as much as he can to fly in the face of his co-captains and their ludicrous “Haus-arrest” scheme.

 

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do,” Bitty answers before suddenly jumping up and heading over to the stove. Tango realizes why after a second, as Holster walks into the kitchen and wordlessly sits down in front of him.

 

An hour later, Tango is lying on his back, staring at the ceiling of the living room, bored out of his mind without Dylan to talk to. He hears footsteps approach and he sits up suddenly. Dex presses a finger to his lips as he examines the room, head on a swivel.

 

“Nursey said I was supposed to let you have my phone for five minutes,” Dex whispers, holding the device out for him.

 

“Nursey said?” Tango says questioningly, even as he’s snatching the phone from Dex’s hand. “I understand that. Always better to do what your boyfriend tells you, right?”

 

“W-what?” Dex splutters, turning bright red in a matter of milliseconds. “Why would you think he’s—”

 

“Just because I ask a lot questions doesn’t mean I don’t notice things,” Tango shrugs distractedly, already engrossed in typing out a message to _his_ boyfriend.

 

“How—are we—is it really that obvious?” Dex splutters, glancing around the room again, Tango assumes for a different reason this time.

 

Tango glances up, and he becomes aware from the panicked look on Dex’s face that he really freaked the other boy out. “Uh, not really?” Tango answers, deciding to ignore the phone in his hand after a long moment of deliberation. “I guess I just sorta know what to look for?”

 

“What did you see? Is anyone else going to—y’know, see what you’re seeing?” Dex presses apprehensively, his head still swiveling to study the room.

 

 _Really?_ Tango thinks, rolling his eyes. _This is how he’s going to have to spend his five minutes? Reassuring Dex that no one else can figure out that he and Nursey are dating?_

 

Tango sighs. “Look, it’s not really that obvious. It’s just—you give each other little looks and smiles. And I’ve noticed that sometimes your touches linger. But these other guys are literally brick walls. They’re not going to know unless you tell them.”

 

“Are you _sure_?” Dex asks insistently.

 

“Yes Dex, I’m _sure_ ,” Tango spits out (a little too harshly, oops). “Now are you going to let me talk to my boyfriend instead of talking about yours?”

 

“O-oh, yeah…okay,” Dex mumbles, and Tango immediately feels bad about snapping at Dex. He’s just trying to help, and Tango wouldn’t have even had to assure him if he hadn’t opened up his mouth and talked without thinking.

 

Tango blows out a breath. “I’m sorry, it’s just—I’m under a lot of stress with Ransom and Holster being—well, you know.”

 

“It’s okay, I get it,” Dex says, nodding stiffly. “I can’t imagine what it would be like if I was in your place.”

 

“It’s not fun,” Tango frowns, deciding to leave out that as recently as sixty years ago, he would’ve actually been in the same boat with Nursey—well, that’s not entirely right. But even if this isn’t _exactly_ the same, or on the same _level_ as that, it’s still similar enough. He won’t bring it up though, because he’s sure that Dex and Nursey have talked about that issue enough already. “But uh, thanks for letting me use your phone.”

 

“So go head and use it,” Dex says, nudging the phone back towards him. “Your time is running out.”

 

“Shit, oh yeah,” Tango curses, immediately lowering his eyes back onto the device.

 

 **_Dex (Tango):_ ** _Hey Dylan…it’s Tango_

****

**_Dylan:_ ** _Tango! What’s going on? I’ve been texting you since we hung up but you haven’t responded. I was getting worried :\_

**_Dex (Tango):_ ** _r &h took my phone :(_

**_Dylan:_ ** _Shit man._

 **_Dylan:_ ** _They’re really serious about this, aren’t they?_

**_Dex (Tango):_ ** _yeah_

 **_Dex (Tango):_ ** _but bitty says it should blow over soon_

 

 **_Dylan:_ ** _I really hope so_

 

 _“Fuck,”_ Dex hisses suddenly. “Ransom and Holster are coming. You gotta give me that back.”

 

“Well thanks anyway,” Tango says sadly.

 

“I should get out of here, but Chowder should be bringing his phone around soon,” Dex says. “Fifteen minutes maybe,” he adds before bolting from the room.

 

Tango flops down onto his back, heaving a long sigh.

 

Ransom and Holster eye him suspiciously. “What are you up to?” Holster glowers.

 

“Nothing,” Tango replies innocently. “I’m just lying here.”

 

“You change your mind yet?” Ransom inquires, squatting down next to him.

 

“Nope,” Tango answers, shaking his head.

 

“Alright,” Holster says, and then they walk away, back to wherever it is they are hanging out to keep watch over him.

 

Chowder comes by with his phone fifteen minutes later and Tango gets five minutes before Ransom and Holster come back to check on him. It’s the same thing when Nursey and Whiskey lend him their phones. It’s almost like Ransom and Holster don’t want him to be interacting with _anyone,_ at all.

 

The next person to visit is Bitty, and Bitty passes him his phone. “There’s a pie in the oven right now,” he whispers. “Make sure Dylan knows that you can sneak out into the backyard in about twenty minutes.”

 

“Thank you so much Bitty,” Tango says, engulfing Bitty in a hug, nearly knocking him onto his back.

 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Bitty replies, shaking his head. “There’s no telling if it will be enough of a distraction. At most, I can guarantee you ten minutes.”

 

“That’s—it’s better than nothing,” Tango says, hoping that he doesn’t sound disappointed that it’s only going to be a short period of time. It’s certainly better than nothing.

 

 **_Bitty (Tango):_ ** _It’s Tango. Can you sneak into the Haus backyard in 20 mins?_

**_Dylan:_ ** _Yeah!!! I’ll be there :)_

 

“Dylan says he can be there so…would you like, give me a signal when they’re distracted?” Tango asks.

 

“Yeah, I’ll just pop my head out of the kitchen, if that’s good enough?” Bitty replies.

 

“That should be good,” Tango says, handing Bitty back his phone. “Thank you so much again.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Bitty says, giving him a smile that doesn’t seem 100% happy. “I just wish we didn’t have to be doin’ this.”

 

“You said it’ll blow over soon, right?” Tango sighs.

 

“Yeah,” Bitty nods. “So just, y’know, sit tight and it’ll all be fine soon.”

 

The pie comes out of the oven and the entire Haus descends on the kitchen from the smell alone. Bitty sticks his head out and catches Tango’s eye, and he bolts for the back door, while Bitty returns to the kitchen to give special attention to Ransom and Holster (Tango assumes, to keep them distracted longer).

 

Dylan is standing there waiting for him when Tango exits the Haus. His back is turned, and Tango runs, crossing the few steps between them as quickly as possible, nearly tackling the other boy as he wraps his arms around him.

 

“Hey,” Dylan whispers softly, loosening Tango’s arms so he can spin around and face him. As soon as he does, Tango buries his head in the crook of Dylan’s neck. Dylan’s hands rub slow, comforting circles up and down his back. “How’re you holding up?”

 

“Okay, I guess,” Tango mumbles. “But I miss you so much.”

 

“I miss you too,” Dylan says as they pull back slightly from the hug, but don’t let go of each other. “But hey, this isn’t going to be for too much longer, right?”

 

“That’s what Bitty keeps saying, but I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Tango mutters, and okay, it’s been less than a day and _maybe_ he’s being a little ridiculous. But this is the boy he loves, and he’s fighting just to have minimal contact with him, and it’s already _so_ tiring. He’s not sure how Bitty does this with Jack _every day_.

 

Dylan pulls him back in and squeezes him tightly. “Just stay strong, okay? I know it’s hard, but Ransom and Holster will see how ridiculous they’re being soon…I think probably by tomorrow, and then everything will be back to normal.”

 

“Do you think I should try reasoning with them?” Tango asks, because he’s been mulling this over in his head for most of the day. He hasn’t really had a chance to argue his point of view, and he feels that might help.

 

“Yeah, I think that would be a good idea,” Dylan replies.

 

“Yo Tango, Bitty says you need to come back in now,” someone (Tango thinks it’s Nursey) says.

 

Dylan leans in and kisses him softly. “It’ll be okay T,” he smiles reassuringly. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Tango says before he reluctantly turns around and trudges back into the Haus, but not before sparing another glance over his shoulder at Dylan as he walks away.

 

He’s just getting back to his place on the living room when Ransom and Holster come to check on him, a little bit of red pie filling around their mouths.

 

“So, Tango—”

 

“No,” Tango says before Holster can finish his statement. They’ve asked him every time they’ve checked on him whether he’s going to give in, and the answer has been no; it will be a long time before his answer changes. “Can’t you see this from where I’m standing? Can’t you imagine what it feels like to be me right now?” Tango inquires fiercely, combatively.

 

“That doesn’t matter,” Ransom says, like Holster did the night before, and Tango’s temper flares.

 

“It—doesn’t _matter_?” Tango exclaims incredulously. “Of course it—”

 

“No Tango, you see, the _sacred_ bylaws are unforgiving, no matter how ridiculous you feel they are,” Holster says, shaking his head.

 

“We had to do all sorts of ridiculous things as freshman just because the bylaws said so,” Ransom adds. “Like…the week before our first game, we had to go without sex.”

 

“We weren’t even allowed to jerk off either,” Holster says, and then shudders. “That was a dark time.”

 

“Oh, and don’t forget about the naked kegster, Holtzy,” Ransom blurts out, nudging Holster’s arm.

 

“You went to a kegster _naked_?” Tango questions. That seems…well, quite frankly, _illegal_.

 

“Well, not _naked_ naked,” Holster quickly clarifies. “But the only thing we got to wear was our jock strap, so for all practical purposes, we were naked.”

 

“That was considerably more fun than the week of celibacy,” Ransom smirks, no doubt reliving some hookup he had as a result of that (he’s not sure if that would’ve been pre-relationship, or after they got together).

 

The rest of the team has now joined them in the living room, as they’ve already completely demolished the pie (there’s none left, and Tango is briefly upset that he didn’t get a piece).

 

“Okay but yo, that doesn’t seem like a fair comparison,” Nursey pipes up, frowning deeply.

 

“Yeah, and besides, we never had to do anything like that,” Dex interjects.

 

“We didn’t have to either,” Whiskey cues in, standing next to Tango in solidarity.

 

As a whole, the room doesn’t look very impressed with the two co-captains. Tango immediately sees the kill shot to this line of reasoning, and takes it.

 

“So what happened then?” Tango asks, staring down his co-captains pointedly. “If we didn’t have to do those things, they can’t be in the ‘ _sacred_ bylaws.’ But you said that they couldn’t be changed.”

 

“Well you see, that’s where Jack Zimmermann comes into play,” Holster says, chuckling nervously as he exchanges a somewhat desperate looking glance with Ransom. “Jack had those permanently struck from the bylaws.”

 

“So, the captain can just…do whatever they want with the bylaws?” Tango asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

“No, that’s not it,” Ransom answers rapidly. “Captains can suggest any changes to the _sacred_ bylaws they want, but they still have to be approved by a majority of the team.”

 

“And no one wanted to piss Jack off so we just agreed,” Holster explains.

 

“So why not just suggest changing the bylaw about the lacrosse team?” Tango presses.

 

“Because a, you wouldn’t have enough support from the team if we did,” Holster says.

 

“And b, just no. We hate the lacrosse team, so it’s just not going to happen,” Ransom continues.

 

“So that’s the end of that discussion,” Holster says, hurriedly ushering himself and Ransom out of the living room.

 

He’s disappointed that they didn’t seem to care for rational reasoning, but the number of shaking heads in the room with him makes Tango feel like he’s got most of the team on his side. And that mean that they can’t hold onto this forever. Eventually, they’d crack under the pressure. But he has no idea how long they’ll hold out. In the end, he just has to outlast them, which Tango has to believe he will be able to.

* * *

 

When Bitty walks into the kitchen that next morning, he finds Ransom and Holster whispering furtively as they scribble things down on a piece of paper sitting on the table between them.

 

“Mornin’ boys,” Bitty says. He’s suspicious when both boys jump at his greeting, scrambling to flip the paper over to the blank side. “What’re y’all up to so early?” he asks as he grabs a mug from the cupboard, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

 

“Uh nothing really,” Holster responds far too quickly to be casual.

 

“Just some hockey plays,” Ransom adds, considerably calmer than Holster. “You know, co-captains stuff.”

 

“Oh, you mind if I take a look?” Bitty questions, reaching over and snatching up the paper before either boy can stop him.

 

“Um,” Holster utters, color draining from his face.

 

**_Operation “Restore Balance to the Force”_ **

**_(a.k.a. Operation “How To Break Up Tango and LAX Bro Without Tango Knowing”)_ **

 

There are a number of bullet points underneath the title, but Bitty is still staring at it; reading it over and over, his rage increasing each time.

 

“I literally cannot believe what I’m readin’,” he says lowly, glaring at Ransom and Holster. They both lower their eyes, avoiding his gaze.

 

“It’s not what you think it is?” Holster counters weakly.

 

“It’s not what I think it is?” Bitty inquires, giving both boys dubious looks. “How can it be anythin’ else?!”

 

“We weren’t—”

 

“No, shut the fuck up!” Bitty says sharply, and both boys snap their mouths shut, eyes wide. “I was willin’ to let y’all have your moment with this whole lacrosse team thing. You weren’t doin’ that much harm and I figured y’all would just get over it. But this? This goes way too far!”

 

“Bitty—”

 

“I said to shut up! Y’all’re goin’ to have to listen to what I have to say, and you’re not goin’ to say a word, you’re not goin’ to try to defend yourselves, you’re just goin’ to listen. Got it?”

 

Ransom and Holster nod meekly.

 

“This is, without a doubt, the lowest, dirtiest, downright disgustin’ thing you two have ever talked about doin’! So you don’t like the lacrosse team? Whoop-dee-fuckin’-do for you! I don’t give a shit what you think about them! That ain’t no excuse for tryin’ to break two people up! Who Tango dates is his business, not yours, no matter what the fuckin’ bylaws say!”

 

Bitty is getting more furious with each word that leaves his mouth. He’s started crying, which he hates; he’s always been a crier when he gets very angry. For most people, that seems to cause his anger to lose its power, but not with Ransom and Holster. They both look like they’ve seen a ghost.

 

“Imagine if it were one of y’all! Bein’ told by the people who are supposed to have y’all’s backs that you have to break up with someone that you love! Physically separatin’ you from that person! That person that you feel like you couldn’t go a day without! Just think, for one fuckin’ second, about how that would make you feel!”

 

Ransom and Holster share a look laden with guilt before turning back to Bitty.

 

“Yeah, that’s right! You’d feel terrible! Like a part of yourself was missin’! Well that’s how Tango feels right now! And yet he’s still standin’ up to y’all, fightin’ for the person that he loves! And you were still goin’ to try and destroy that! It makes me fuckin’ sick. _Got your back_. Ha, if this is what y’all mean by having each other’s backs, then it’s utter bullshit! Now here’s what’s goin’ to happen: y’all’re goin’ to give Tango back his phone, let him leave the Haus, and butt out completely of his love life. And if you don’t, bless your hearts, I’m goin’ to make you wish you had listened to me.”

 

“Yeah, we’ll do it,” Holster replies eagerly, voice heavily colored by both awe and fear.

 

“Oh no, I wasn’t done yet,” Bitty says, shaking his head. “After that, y’all are goin’ to have to take pies over to the lacrosse house and make a good apology to them for your behavior toward the team, and then you are goin’ to apologize to Dylan and Tango for what you did, explain to them what you were plannin’, and apologize for that too. And once y’all are done with that, you’ll be invitin’ the lacrosse team to the next kegster.”

 

“But Bitty—”

 

“No but’s, unless you’re lookin’ to spend the rest of your time in this Haus without another baked good. Not. _One_ ,” Bitty says, harshly punctuating the last two words.

 

“Yes Bitty,” both boys reply docilely.

 

“Now shoo, I’ve got work to do,” Bitty commands. Ransom and Holster are out of the kitchen in a flash, and Tango comes shuffling in; Holster pauses for a moment, turning back to shove Tango’s phone in his head, before quickly lumbering up the stairs to the attic.

* * *

 

Tango can honestly say that in the short time he’s known Bitty, he’s never heard him utter a sentence with as much intensity as he’s shown in the last five minutes. He collapses against the counter, swiping at his cheeks.

 

“I—wow Bitty. Thank you so much.”

 

Bitty looks up and smiles. “You’re welcome, sweetie.”

 

“So uh—I thought you said it was better to just wait them out?” Tango asks, tilting his head in curiosity.

 

“I did too, but just take a look,” Bitty says, handing him a crumpled up piece of paper.

 

Tango pulls it open and reads the title at the top:

 

**_Operation “Restore Balance to the Force”_ **

**_(a.k.a. Operation “How To Break Up Tango and LAX Bro Without Tango Knowing”)_ **

 

“They—they were really going to do that?” he asks, eyes going wide.

 

“Apparently so,” Bitty frowns. “But I’d just had enough. I wasn’t goin’ to let them do that to you.”

 

Tango pulls Bitty into a hug. “I don’t think I can thank you enough.”

 

“No need to thank me, I was just doin’ the right thing. Now I have some pies to bake, and I think I can see a certain boy sittin’ forlornly on the porch across the street.”

 

Tango doesn’t need to be told twice. He goes tearing out of the kitchen, out of the Haus, across the street. Dylan meets him at the sidewalk in front of the lacrosse house, hugging him tightly and kissing him deeply.

 

“It’s over?” he asks, breaking the kiss.

 

“Yeah, it’s over,” Tango says, grinning widely.

 

“This weekend was kinda like Romeo and Juliet, just with a happier ending,” Dylan remarks, chuckling with relief.

 

“Romeo and Juliet?” Tango squints in confusion.

 

Dylan laughs. “I’m sure you know them, but anyway, c’mon T, let’s go inside and I’ll refresh your memory, or otherwise, tell you everything you need to know.”

* * *

 

**_EPILOGUE_ **

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are here tonight to celebrate the joining of our teams in holy bro-hood!” Holster shouts, holding up a red solo cup of beer.

 

“As recent events have played out, it seems that two players from out respective teams have fallen in love,” Ransom yells over the din, as the party slows to a halt while Ransom and Holster makes their speech.

 

“Tango, Dylan, please step forward!” Holster bellows.

 

Tango walks up to the table where Ransom and Holster are standing, clutching his boyfriend’s hand and smiling.

 

“You two are single-handedly responsible for ending the long-standing feud between our two athletic teams, and for that, we are grateful,” Ransom continues loudly, and Tango has to stop himself from scoffing. They weren’t exactly grateful less than week ago, when Bitty forcibly made them apologize to the lacrosse team.

 

“You’re practically a modern day Romeo and Juliet!”

 

There’s a smattering of laughter that echoes through the room.

 

“But anyway, as a token of our gratitude, and as a symbol of our commitment to better future relations with the lacrosse team, we hereby declare Dylan Fox an honorary member of the Samwell men’s hockey team, and bestow upon him the nickname Foxtrot! Everyone, please, cheers to the newest member of our team!” Holster says, clinking his cup with Ransom’s.

 

“Hey, welcome to the team,” Tango repeats, pecking Foxtrot on the cheek.

 

“It’s my pleasure,” Foxtrot says, blushing darkly.

 

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the newest member of the team will commemorate this momentous occasion by performing a kegstand!”

“Oh boy,” Foxtrot mumbles as he’s swept up by Ransom and Holster, Tango trailing just a step behind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, just so y'all know, it'll probably be like two or three weeks before I post again...this fic took a lot out of me and I also have school, so I just need a long break right now. Thanks for reading, and I'll see y'all in a couple weeks <3 :)


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